


man of mystery

by noalarmsandnosuprises



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Gen, If You Squint - Freeform, Medical Inaccuracies, Minor Bucky Barnes/Sam Wilson, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Spider-Man: Far From Home, Spider-Man: Far From Home (Movie), Spider-Man: Far From Home (Movie) Spoilers, everyone’s a little OOC whoops, i make shit up because woah, morgan and peter siblings now, no beta we die like men, not really tho, quentin beck sucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2020-06-22 07:55:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 38,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19663060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noalarmsandnosuprises/pseuds/noalarmsandnosuprises
Summary: His face stares back at him through the pixelated screens of billboards. Spider-Man, the murderer is screamed through the broadcast after. The screens aren’t dissimilar to the illusions he’s seen in the past weeks and his brain scatters, heart thumping wildly against the still-healing scar from the train he was bodyslammed against.This isn’t real, his brain says. This isn’t real.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> far from home spoilers!!!!!!

Morgan’s been having trouble sleeping for months, now. Nothing helps, not toys, songs, stories or lying with her for hours, waiting for her to fall asleep. Pepper tries the promise of extra juice pops once and her baby is inconsolable for hours afterward. t’s two in the morning on a Saturday when she finally gets Morgan to sleep, not because she did so on her own accord but because her five-year-old body passed out. She’s becoming more and more her father’s daughter ever day and it makes Pepper’s heart stop at every reminder. 

Pepper fumbles down the stairs, past the workbench-disguised Friday and the bottom step Morgan’s left her teddy on, waiting for Tony to walk through the doors in his MIT sweatshirt, glasses folded in his shirt. Friday’s automatically changed the television from the kid’s network Morgan is limited to to the news, and _holy shit she’s going into cardiac arrest at 46._

Peter’s smiling face is on the television. The words Breaking News flash across the screen aggressively in red and blue. “This just in - schoolboy Peter Parker has been revealed by worldwide hero Mysterio as mass-murderer Spider-Man. If anyone with knowledge of his whereabouts could please come to this number-“ 

She turns it off with a shaky press of the remote, careful not to let the scream bubbling up inside her throat break free and wake up Morgan. She knows him. He’s funny, and adorable, and Tony’s son, his pride and joy _._ _I’m doing this for the kid,_ Tony’s voice echoes in her ears.

She calls her lawyers. 

  


_

He’s clinging onto the telegraph pole when it happens.

His face stares back at him through the pixelated screens of billboards. Spider-Man, the murderer is screamed through the broadcast after. The screens aren’t dissimilar to the illusions he’s seen in the past weeks and his brain scatters, heart thumping wildly against the still-healing scar from the train he was body slammed against. 

_Notrealnotrealnotreal_. It’s just Mysterio, this isn’t real. Peter can feel the tips of his fingers detach from the pole as the outraged shouts of the crowds get louder, banging on his sensitive ears. He’s falling, but that’s okay because _it’s all an illusion._

“Peter? Oh god, you have to go!” Someone calls. It’s MJ, standing over him with her phone in hand. Crowds are gathering around her, pushing her out of the way to get to him. “Peter!” Her voice is shrill. A tinny-sounding Happy pours through her phone but then he’s gone and the crowds are upon him. His mask is ripped off, tearing in two. There’s a collective gasp but _this is an illusion_. Fists collide with his face and he closes his eyes to see the crumbling gravestone of Tony and the suit pouring out of the ground, its face carved into a disappointed frown. _I wanted you to be better,_ it says.

“Not real,” Peter chokes out as blood pools in his mouth and the screaming gets louder. “Not real.” 

_

The first thing he hears is talking. 

His eyes won’t open but he can smell antiseptic so strong it burns his nose. _A hospital?_ His fried brain supplies. _The med bay?_

The talking gets louder as his body wakes up and his senses sharpen. “I need every lawyer preparing the case. Yes, every news report that’s published the footage and or reported this. I want the attackers in custody.” The voice is bossy and straight to the point. For a split-second Peter thinks of motor-oil smelling Mr. Stark, and then his chest collapses as he remembers. It’s Pepper. 

Please, I’m his friend - his girlfriend, I - you have to let me see him, I was there.” 

_Where?_

“What? MJ, what happened? How bad was it?” 

He strains to remember, forcing his thoughts through the empty spiral of his memories. Gradually, feeling to his body is restored and suddenly all he can feel are hot spikes of bubbling pain pressing against his skin, begging to break free. “Ow,” He whispers, discovering a plastic tube lodged in his throat. Almost immediately, there’s shuffling and the sound of doors slamming open.

“Pete? Hey, man, you okay?” _Ned? Ned, you have to get away -_

“Oh, kiddo. We’re doing everything we can, alright? You rest up.” 

“Ned?” There’s a grunt and a loud thump. “Oh my god, let me see, Ned, I swear to god, I’ll make you eat your own ears if you don’t let me - _shit_.” 

He tears his eyes open. Ned, his confidence hat in hands, is standing at the foot of his plastic hospital bed. MJ’s mouth is bent in a perfect ‘o’, her eyebrows turned upwards. Wooden walls come into view, a picturesque landscape view out the window. _This isn’t a hospital,_ he thinks. He tries to move his neck to the left to see more, but he finds he can only move it an few centimetres before what feels like a knife attacks the back of his head. Pepper Potts comes into his eyeline, her mouth folded in a watery smile, immaculate, wrinkle-free dress on, mascara tracked across her face. May’s by her side – Happy behind her, his hand rubbing circles on her shoulder. His aunt’s been sobbing, judging by the red-rimmed eyes he’s come to recognise on himself. 

“Hey, honey,” She says quietly, fighting back tears. “How you doing?” 

Peter blinks heavily, glancing at the IV in his hand - there was no room for it on his cast-covered arm. _This could be an illusion,_ a Nick Fury sounding voice echoes in between his ears. “Tell me,” He clears his throat painfully, “What do you always say after Thai?” 

May looks around wildly, concerned. “Kiddo,” She stars, but MJ nods and she bites her lip.“I larb you,” She waits for Peter to relax but his gaze falls on his friends. 

“I found out you were Spider-Man when you climbed through your bedroom window after patrol and I dropped the Lego Death Star we were building all over your floor.” Ned offers a smile.

“You and Tony used to order pineapple pizza after long nights in the lab,” Pepper adds, grimacing at the thought of the fruit contaminating pizza. “I would never go in the same room when you guys were having dinner.”

Peter stifles a smile. “You gave me a glass black dahlia on our vacation,” MJ whispers, her smile small. “I kissed you in London, after you saved the world. You love your sandwiches from Delmar’s squished down. When I met you, I was drinking tea and reading the Great Gadsby.” 

He relaxes into the pillows before remembering why he’s here in the first place. “What happened?” 

The room immediately stops. May breathes in sharply, turning to bury her face into Happy’s neck. Peter can’t find the energy to make a comment or offer a congratulations, so he looks at his blanket-smothered lap. MJ speak up. “I - your identity was revealed by Beck the Dickwad.“You fell into the crowds and they beat you up.” For emphasis, she gestures towards Peter, who stares at the casts covering his right leg and left arm, the gauze and bandages leaving no area uncovered. He can see purple bruises blooming on hands and between wrappings.

“Why?” He whispers. “Why - I’m Spider-Man.” 

“Because Beck told them you caused the attacks on London, Peter,” Ned’s voice is shaky. “You’re, um,” He fiddles with his hat. “You’re a wanted criminal.”

He can’t think. His brain’s finally given up, caving in under the weight aeroplane and the warehouse he’s trapped under and Toomes and Beck and Venice and Prague and London and Brad and Flash and Thanos and Tony. As his heart thumps too loud in his ears, he stares from face to face, words forming in his head but not passing to his lips. 

“Oh,” Pepper guesses, her strawberry-blonde hair falling over her face. “You’re home.”

On que, a mousy-brown haired girl races into the room, slamming the door open and diving straight for Pepper’s open arms. “Mommy!” The child cries. 

Peter throws up. 


	2. Chapter 2

Eugene Thompson lives life fast. That’s his twitter and instagram bio, his life motto. He integrates it into his daily life - “Flash,” he’s called at school. He races through his classes and soars through AcaDec competitions and science fairs. He lives life fast, because if he slows down his heart will catch up with his brain and he’ll remember what happened.

Five years ago, like billions of other people around the globe, he vanished in the blip. One minute he was sitting in his bedroom, watching his follower count skyrocket after live-streaming the spaceship landing on his Instagram, and the next moment he was blinking tiredly in _someone else’s apartment._ Turns out it still was his - someone had moved into it after his father, left alone, put a bullet in his head.

Today, he sits in his brand-new room living life faster than ever while his mother sits downstairs, sobbing into her handkerchief. He opens his new phone find his social media apps absolutely blowing up.

A game show host-type voice chastises him in his head as his eyes scan the webpage in front of him. _Ladies and gentlemen, wait for him to realise who he’s been bullying all these years. Ready..wait for it._

_Ding ding ding!_ It says as Peter’s grinning face stares up at him. _You fucked up!_

_

Peter Parker is a superhero. He’s been to space, fought the most hated man in the entire universe twice, become an Avenger. He’s saved the world, his friends and Queens citizens from danger too many times, and has unthinkable powers.

But no amount of the Super prefix can fix his constant too-fast pulse, his wary mood. No amount of super-strength can help him lift the billions of people waiting for the next Iron Man off of his shoulders. No amount of super-healing can take away the emotional scars carved into his limbs, left there by Beck and the people of Queens that once wore his face on their lunchboxes and backpacks.

Peter’s broken, shattered and damaged, and he knows it. He’s taken too many hits in too little time and there hasn’t been a long enough gap in between tragedies to repair the human part of himself people forget exists. Ned and May step fearfully around him, avoiding Beck and Thanos, avoiding Tony, which is a little hard, considering he’s in his house.

The spiderling’s only been to Tony’s lake house once before, for the funeral. He couldn’t really see anything through his heavy stream of tears and the comments directed over his head (“Who’s the kid? Tony didn’t know a boy, did he?”). His bed is in the living room, he discovers. It’s the only room in the house with a television, which is surprising considering the amount of technology Mr. Stark used to rely on. Still, the television has been disconnected from the internet - he’s only been able to watch DVDs.

It’s been a few days since his face was plastered on every television and phone on the Earth. Every surface seems to shimmer in the corners of his eyes and he wakes up every night with a scream lodged in his throat. Tony’s rotting face is burned into the back of his eyelids. Peter doesn’t sleep.

“You shouldn’t have to put up with this,” He had told MJ maybe days or hours ago when his brain cells had finally managed to string two coherent words together. “Should just leave.”

MJ and Ned had stayed at the lake house with May and Happy. There were a couple of spare rooms - May and Happy were definitely sharing. “Peter Benjamin Parker,” MJ had responded in true MJ fashion: brutally honest. “You’re goddamn right. I shouldn’t have to deal with a brain-dead superhero-boyfriend. But I’m willingly dating your ass, loser, and I don’t mind this part of the whole thing. You’re human, dork, you’re allowed to hurt. Just get your dumbass out of bed first.”

He wasn’t sure if it was the words or the feather-light kiss she pressed to his forehead that spurred him on to collect his scattered thoughts days later when his bones had properly mended and get himself out of the hospital bed.

And so, gnawing on his bottom lip, Spider-Man slides out from under the covers and onto the hard floorboards. He pushes himself past the couch and toward the window where a thin trail of moonlight chases the grass outside.

He looks out at the emerald lawn; the pier with a singular deck chair. It’s all so domestic. _I’m glad you had this, Tony,_ Peter thinks absently, _even if it was for only five years._

The table on the veranda is missing two chairs. Peter’s eyes rake the scene in front of him, looking for the second deck chair. He finds it perched outside a pink playhouse nestled between trees.

“Hi.”

He lets out a shriek, turning around so fast he almost looses balance. On the bottom step of the staircase he has yet to brave is a tiny girl - Morgan Stark. Her chin is nestled between her knees and she twirls her hair around her index finger, looking at Peter through bloodshed, tired eyes. “Hi, Peter,” She says.

He’s not too sure how she knows who he is. Peter’s never really had any experience with children apart from the ones he rescued on patrol. “Hey,” He offers quietly, “What are you doing up, little miss?”

Almost instantly Morgan’s demeanour changes. Her bottom lip just out and her eyes go shiny. She buries her hands in her pyjamas. “You sound like our Daddy.”

_Oh shit. I can’t do this._ “I’m - wait, our?”

Morgan brightens a little bit. “Yeah, stupid,” She chastises, “Daddy said you were my big brother. He told me lots of stories. He said you died but our Daddy got you back.” She gets a far-away look on her face that he’s seen on Mr. Stark’s; she’s deep in thought.

“O-oh,” Peter stutters out. _You thought of me as a son?_ He thinks, raising his eyes a little to the ceiling. He blinks hard, trying to stop the inevitable flow of tears. “W-what did he tell you?”

The little Stark seems to take this as permission to treat him like her sibling and jumps up onto his still sore lap. He doesn’t say anything, just moves his bandaged arms around her awkwardly. “That you’re the bestest son ever,” She declares, “And he loved you like, two-thousand five-hundred or something. And that you were Spider-Man! Can you tell me a story, Peter? Please?”

The teenager tries to process all this information. His heart’s exploding and he’s 110% sure if he was alone right now he’d be sobbing at the top of a building. The little girl on his lap, however, seems to make everything better. Taking the role of her brother headfirst by the horns, he snuggles her to his chest and begins the only tale he can think of.

“A couple of years ago, yo- our Dad rocked up in my apartment unannounced. You know Iron Man? Well I thought he was amazing, but the cooler superhero is Tony Stark, and so fourteen-year-old me was pretty excited. Anyway, he took me to Germany to fi- play a game with Captain America..”

_

It’s a little after nine when Pepper walks into Morgan’s strangely quiet room to wake her up. It’s empty, and so she charges down the stairs, eyes wide, fueled led by panic.

Curled up on the couch is a sleeping five year old, the bags under her eyes fading slowly. Morgan Stark is curled up on Peter’s bandaged chest, and she darts forward to pick her up because _damnit, Morgan, the boy’s still healing,_ but Peter’s wearing a smile bigger than the sun as he looks down at the tired toddler.

“Good morning, Ms. Potts - Mrs. Stark,” He grins, his hand softly raking through her tangled hair.

They both look so content and Pepper breaks into a smile, turning away from the duo to silence her phone. The press conference she has scheduled can wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys thanks for reading. im not really sure where this is gonna go but thankyou all for reading this far. :) thanks to everyone who left a comment 
> 
> also,, would I get judged hardcore if I did one of those cliché texting/twitter fics????


	3. Chapter 3

Tony was Happy’s best friend. It was sort of depressing if you thought about it: Happy was employed by Tony. Still, he walked his drunk ass home long after his shift finished, helped him into bed. He had coaxed him through panic attacks (something definitely not in his job description) and stayed at his bedside and watched Downtown Abbey re-runs when Tony was recovering from taking a metal frisbee to the chest, just as he had done for him. But Tony Stark took tumble after tumble, hit after hit, and Happy had to watch as his genius best friend stopped getting back up.

And then came Peter. In true Tony fashion, the energetic, very annoying teenager had been recruited on an absolute whim, but in not so true Tony fashion he had stayed longer than a couple of days, worming his way into the billionaire’s beaten heart. Happy had watched the unlikely duo bond over lab days and cheeseburger dinners. He’d watched as they made each other better people. The one thing he hadn’t watched was Tony dying.

Peter had – the excited puppy with a contagious smile had watched his father figure die. The world had completely upended for him, and not for the first time, but for the third time: the boy had lost four parents in the span of a decade. Happy had watched as Stark’s pride and joy sobbed in his own arms and listened to the distant voice in his head.

“He’s too good for this world,” Tony had told him once. Happy was going to make sure the world was now good enough to him.

_

“How are you, Peter?”

Ned digs his spoon into his cereal and stares expectantly at Peter from across the table. The boy in question had spent twenty minutes weaving around Morgan, who had fallen asleep on his lap, and was now glancing back at the five-year-old every few seconds.

“Fine,” Peter replies, pouring Lucky Charms into a bowl of his own. Truth is, he’s not, but Ned and MJ are leaving today and as much as he enjoys Ned’s company the boy has just started calling him ‘Peter-Man’, and he really can’t take another second of it.

“Sorry I have to leave, man, but my Mom wants me-“ “Back, yeah,” Peter finishes, standing up awkwardly and hobbling to the sink. “It’s alright, I’ll be fine.” He rests his elbows on the sink, staring into the drain. The dregs of water in the bottom flash into the pipes like pixels on a screen and for a split second he’s back, back in the illusion. _Thisisn’treal._ “Just – don’t tell anyone anything at school, okay?” “Okay, Peter.” Ned reaches for his backpack under the table and shoots him a watery grin. “Look after yourself, bro.”

Ned shuffles across the room, his face still in awe that he’s in _Iron Man’s freaking house_ , and wraps Peter in a bone-crushing hug. It jerks the spiderling back to Earth, all thoughts about Beck disappearing as quickly as they came. Ned’s hugs are the best.

“Ned, are you planning on stealing my boyfriend from me?”

Peter jerks away from his best friend. MJ is standing in the doorway to the kitchen, her trademark curls floating over one eye. Her hair hangs over her shoulders, and she’s wearing a blue dress – Pepper’s - that’s slightly too big for her. The broken black dahlia hangs around her neck and she twirls her hand around it, grinning up at Peter.

“N – No,” He stutters. _Shit, she’s beautiful._

“I’m gonna wait outside,” Ned says, “Catch you later, Peter-man.” He disappears through the doorway with a squeak and a mumble about sleeping in Tony Stark’s house. Peter is really glad May is still asleep.

“I’m sorry we have to go. I – you don’t have your phone, do you?” Peter shakes his head. “I’ll email you, or something. Don’t worry, dork, you’re not alone.” She pulls him in for a hug, her hair tickling Peter’s chin. He wraps his arms around her and kisses the top of her head.

“I know. MJ?” He adds hastily, retracting from her grasp to meet her eyes. “I, er – thankyou. For everything. I’m really glad we’re..uh.”

“Dating?” She supplies, laughing. MJ quietens, staring up at Peter through her eyelashes. “Me too.” She stands up on her tip-toes, shifting her arms from his waist to his neck and kisses him.

The only good thing that came out of Beck was him and MJ. It’s his first relationship; ditching Liz at Homecoming to fight her Dad and take a building to the head didn’t really count. He loves it though – the awkward hand-holding, the cuddles, the bits he definitely won’t be telling May about. The only depressing part is he’s pretty sure none of this wouldn’t of happened if it wasn’t for Quentin.

“Ahem,” Happy says, glaring at him from the open front door. His black suit and tie, as always, are ironed neatly, and he’s abandoned the emotions Peter didn’t know he had for his usual grumpy old man look. “We gotta go.”

“I thought…Ned’s mom isn’t coming?” He detaches himself begrudgingly from his girlfriend. “You’re taking them home?” “Oh, yeah, we’re gonna invite a random lady to the house Spider-Man is staying at. Sounds like a good idea, Parker, let’s go with that. No, of course I’m taking them. What, you get a concussion swinging around Queens?” Happy rolls his eyes. Peter can tell he doesn’t mean it – he knows the difference between Just Happy comments and I’m-Properly-Angry Happy comments. “Let’s go,” He says again to MJ, widening his eyes for emphasis.

“Seems like he never really left the forehead of security job,” MJ whispers as they hug again, much to Happy’s dismay. Peter laughs. “Guess not. See you, MJ.”

“Catch you later, loser.”

She disappears through the doorway, bag in hand. Happy offers a final wave before following her and he darts to the glass window to watch them leave. MJ turns on the final step in the jet to squint down at him, raising her chin and waving furiously. A tan hand joins hers – Ned’s – and Peter waves back. He really has the best friends in the universe.

As he’s bidding his friends goodbye, he fails to notice the goosebumps appearing on the back of his neck ( _“We’re_ not _calling it my Peter Tingle!”)_. He only turns away from the window as sharp footsteps enter the room.

“Peter,” Pepper Potts greets him, looking incredibly business like with a juice pop stick in one hand and a ruffled teddy bear in another. “We need to talk.”

_

“I’m going to have to release a statement,” Pepper declares, shuffling through the sea of paperwork spread out in her office, “The Ross guy, you remember him? That bastard – pardon my French – is out looking for you everywhere. I’ve pressed charges against everyone we found who attacked you in Queens, and I’ve filed complaints against the news corporations for publishing the video. I don’t think this house is registered anywhere, though, so we should be in luck. If we need to move, there’s a place I know we can go to.” She pauses to take a breath, her head settling in her open palms. “I’m really sorry this happened to you, Peter.”

He breathes deeply, willing his brain to process the information he’s just been given. _Ross is looking for you, charges on attacks, lawyer jargon, registered house._ He realises, looking at the purple-blue bags under the woman’s eyes that she hasn’t been sleeping because of him. She’s been putting every inch of her being that wasn’t completely fractured by the loss of her husband into fixing the video clip drama for a boy she barely knows. “I – I can’t thank you enough. You shouldn’t have to do this.” He stutters out.

“Peter,” She pulls out the chair next to him, looking up at him through her strawberry-blonde locks. “So much has happened to you in the past year. Everything that happened after the Blip - you’re probably hurting more than most of us because you can’t tell many of your friends about you and Tony. And then that absolute arsehole of a man shows up not even months after, fakes his way to heroism and blows up your life, posting that stupid video.” She puts an arm around his shoulders, squeezing it tightly. “Nobody should have to go through that ever, and you’ve done it at sixteen. So of course I’m going to do everything in my power to help you out. You gotta live the rest of your life without heart failure, okay?”

Peter snorts, nodding. “Thanks, Ms – Mrs. Stark.”

Pepper sighs, smiling. “Please. Call me Pepper.” Peter grins back, a reply formulating on his lips. He’s cut off by a loud rumble from outside. He ditches his position on the couch next to Ms – Mrs. Stark and races to the window, his breath hitching. Happy is waving from the bottom step of the jet parked under the safety of the expanse of trees surrounding the lake house. There’s a smile on his face and he looks one-hundred percent fine, but the teenager thinks of when he saw him in the tulip field in the Netherlands and he can’t be so sure. Beck’s simulations were so real.

“Everyone’s home safe!” Happy announces gladly. “Even annoying Ned.”

Peter races outside, his sneakers skidding on the emerald lawn. He keeps his distance, a good three metres of soft grass between them. “Tell me something only you’d know,” He says for the second time, ignoring the embarrassment bubbling up underneath his skin. _I have to make sure this is real._

Instantaneously, Happy’s weathered face softens. He doesn’t question it, which Pete is grateful for. “After the Blip, I listened to every single one of your damned voicemails with Tony. The one I remember most was when you called me when you were what, fourteen? And you said a lost old Dominican lady bought you a Churro after you gave her directions to the nearest ATM or something.”

“Thankyou,” He exhales, unclenching his fists. His pulse is still beating wildly in his ears, drowning out the sound of the jet’s thrusters cooling down. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” The older man says, placing a hand on Peter’s back and urging him inside. The boy tenses, remembering the train racing over his skin, hauling himself up over the tracks and bleeding out in the carriages, dying alone, just like Tony in the simulation. _Thisisn’trealthisisn’treal._ Happy’s hand moves to his shoulder as he feels Peter tense. “You okay, kiddo?”

“Yeah, Mr –“ Tears spring to his eyes and he diverts his gaze to the floor. “Yeah, Happy.”

“Kid-“

“I think I know how to cheer you up,” Pepper announces, still at the table. Her head jerks to the ceiling. “Come with me.”

_

Pepper stills outside the third door on the carpeted hallway upstairs. The room is between Morgan’s bedroom and Tony and Pepper’s – he guesses this one is a bathroom.

“Wh – what?” He looks up at Mrs. Stark. Her eyes are shining, the eyeliner bleeding on her waterline.

“The first thing Tony said when he came back was ‘I lost the kid’,” She begins as Peter opens the door, “A couple of months later, when he was doing a bit better and I found out I was pregnant with Morgan, we bought this house. Tony spent a lot of his time up here. I always thought he was building suits or something until he finally let Morgan and I in.”

The room is painted a dark red, not unlike the colour of his suit. Framed and signed Star Wars posters line the walls. A double bed sits in the centre of the room covered in blue Jedi bedsheets, a crease in them where someone might have sat, looking out at the lake through the window opposite the bed. A chipped mug he recognises as his old one from the Tower sits on the bedside table next to a framed photo of him and Tony captured in mid-laugh, bunny ears perched on Tony’s head, a courtesy of Peter. Half-completed physics homework resides on the desk next to a beaker with remnants of wispy web fluid stuck to the inside. Books and movies line the shelves above the desk – Alien, The Empire Strikes Back, Sherlock Holmes, papers written by Bruce Banner he never got around to read.

Tony built this room for him.

Hot tears race down his face, dropping from his chin onto his science-themed t-shirt. He buries his face in Pepper’s outstretched arms. “He loved you like a son,” She smiles. “You were the reason he re-joined the Avengers in the first place.”

Another sob escapes his body – a happy one. _I miss you so much,_ he thinks. “I’ll leave you to settle in,” Pepper says, closing the door behind her.

As soon as he hears Mrs. Stark’s door close, he collapses on the bed, rolling over to grasp the photo of him and Tony tightly in his hands. “I love you too,” He whispers to the still image.

He’s about to close his eyes when his enhanced hearing picks up an alert from Pepper’s room down the hall.

“Incoming text from: Unknown Number,” Friday is saying, her Irish voice mixed with concern, “Would you like me to read it?”

“Sure, Friday,” Ms. Pott’s tired voice yawns.

A chill smothers Peter’s skin as Friday reads out the message. All happiness and happy-go-lucky feeling he had felt moments previously ebbed away as if the message ripped the emotion from him.

“Hand over Parker,” Friday says softly, “We know where you are.”


	4. Chapter 4

It’s not the same room or even the same building, and she’s been to millions of press conferences since that day, but she can still see Tony’s weathered face as he sits at the bottom of the lectern, unwrapping a cheeseburger and looking out at the confused reporters as he speaks the few sentences that will change Stark Industries forever.

From her position behind the podium, she smiles at the floor, waiting for the chatter of the journalists and camera shutters to cease. The elevator-like music playing dimly in the conference room background switches as the song ends to an ACDC classic she’s heard Tony blast millions of times and it takes every inch of her being not to burst into tears then and there. She fumbles with her wedding ring.  Thankyou for being here, Tony,  she thinks, raising her eyes slightly to the ceiling. She rolls her shoulders back and stands up straight. “There’s my Pepper,” She hears her husband say.

“Thank you all for coming,” She starts. Immediately the chatter stops, camera-waving people dropping into their seats. 

“These past weeks have been quite hectic. These past years,” She corrects herself, “Have been a strain on every member of society. The world has shared a united vulnerability, and when people are vulnerable, people attack.

“A few weeks ago, a man by the name of Quentin Beck, or Mysterio attacked cities across Europe. The monsters you saw captured in cameras were fake – created by him through technology he and my husband manufactured many years ago, known as BARF. Easily weaponised, Tony never allowed this product to make it on the shelves. Beck used the technology to create the idea that he was a superhero from another dimension fighting the monsters. 

None of this was real – Beck was not a superhero, or enhanced in the slightest. None of the monsters exist. No-one was hurt in any of the cities until he moved to London where he planned an attack that could have been fatal to many bystanders. Spider-Man caught onto this plan and stopped him in London, where he programmed the drones that were to attack England to self-destruct. Before his passing, Beck and his team altered the video all of you have seen where Mysterio tells the camera Spider-Man is the villain.”

Pepper pauses to breathe, glancing down at her dot points to check she’s covered all bases. “We have all been so quick to jump in the idea of a man never seen before becoming the world’s greatest hero and his missing Spider-Man as a murderer no matter how many times he’s saved cities and worlds.“ 

“If you wish to hear me speak more on the matter,” She looks directly into the cameras, “I will be taking this matter to court on Monday alongside my own privacy. My house was threatened by an unknown force yesterday that thought I was currently harbouring Spider-Man. I would greatly appreciate it if in the future everyone could please respect my family as fellow human beings and treat my residence as not a public property but a home like any other.” Pepper smiles at the crowd. “Any questions?” 

Hands shoot up in the sea of eager reporters. She calls on a timid-looking young man. “So Spider-Man’s not the bad guy?”

“That is what I said, yes,” Pepper sighs, “Any  questions ?”

The audience laughs and a middle-aged woman with raises her hand. 

“You haven’t said anything about Peter Parker and his involvement in this story. Is he Spider-Man?”

“There is more than one Peter Parker in America, ma’am. If you still believe Mysterio is in the right there are videos I would be more than happy to supply you with.”

“Peter Parker – the one on the telly – he goes to school in Queens!” Pipes up a balding man. “That’s where Spider-Man patrols.”

“May I remind you this particular Peter is a minor, and stalking minors is illegal-“

“If he’s not Spider-Man then why don’t you just say so?” Pepper stares at her hands, hair falling over her eyes. 

She rests her hand on the gold band on her ring finger. She thinks of Tony, inventing time travel for one kid, fighting one of the scariest battles ever in the hopes of getting everyone home. 

“I’m trying to keep everyone safe.” She says. The microphones turn off, camera lenses dropping from where they had focused on her face. Pepper raises a hand and waves in goodbye, her heels clacking on the concrete floor as she makes her way out, closing the door before the stream of paparazzi can follow. 

_

“Safe!” Clint cheers, his hand colliding with the rough bark of the tree his kids have dubbed the Home. From the edge of the field Lila sprints in, dodging Cooper’s fruitless attacks to tag her. 

“Get wrecked!” She calls, giggling.

“I will never understand you kids,” Clint shakes his head, smiling. He spends most days with them – getting his family back is something in those five years he never dreamed was possible.

His pocket vibrates. Keeping one eye on his children, he swipes open the phone. There’s three news notifications and one text from Pepper.  _They’re on their way. Sorry about the short notice. Thankyou, P,_ it reads.

“Dad!” Cooper yells. Clint drops his phone in surprise and races to his son’s side.

“What’s wrong?” He pants, expecting to see Coop’s baseball shirt disintegrate in his hands, but the child’s face is alight with wonder and surprise. He’s clearly fine, and so he follows his son’s gaze to the top of the tree line where the sky is wavering. A wing of a jet appears, camouflage strips hiding the rest of the ship. The concealing panels SHIELD has installed on most planes disappears as the jet hits the ground.

“Do you know them, Dad?” 

Nathaniel asks from behind him. Lila wraps an arm around Cooper defensively.

“Yeah, kiddo,” He says, picking Nathaniel up and sitting him on his hip. “You’re gonna have a few more friends.”

_

All Peter wants to do is sleep. In his own bed, in his own two-bedroom apartment in bustling Queens, with the leaky shower and smelly fridge. He wants to go to school, take notes in Math and zone out in History, pass notes under his desk to Ned and take MJ on dates. He wants to be a normal teenager, not a criminal. Peter squeezes his eyes shut and wishes he never went on that field trip to Oscorp, wishes he never got bitten by that spider. Because now his friends have been put in danger more times then he wants to admit, Tony’s dead because of him and everyone he knows is flying around keeping him safe and risking their own asses in the process.

“We’re here,” Happy announces. 

Morgan unbuckles her seatbelt with a clap of delight, grinning up at Peter. They left as soon as Pepper got the message from who she thinks is Ross and decided leaving Morgan within the radar of criminals was not going to end well and brought her with them until Pepper could come and get her.

“Where are we?” She asks, making grabby hands at Peter, who picks her up with one hand. “Oooh,” She says as she spots the vast green fields, “Are there unicorns here?”

“Maybe,” Peter mutters. The girl pokes him in the face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Morgan,” He says, cursing himself. _Now everyone’s worrying._ “Let’s go meet everyone.”   
  
She wraps her tiny arms around his neck and watches as Peter walks down the stairs of the jet slowly as to not hurt her. Happy follows, his arms laden with everyone’s bags. 

“Are you sure I can’t help?” He hears May ask.

He’s only met Clint a couple of times, through missions, the handful of times he’s been at the Tower or compound the same time Peter has and the Battle, but he seems like a good bloke. He had been at the funeral, standing at the edge of the lake with a young girl who’s with him now alongside three other younger kids.

Clint’s house looks cute from the outside. It’s as if It’s straight out of a picture book: armchair on the veranda, herbs growing in the window baskets. He’s already got four children and him and his wife to look after, he definitely doesn’t need another four people (including the enhanced teenager with a metabolism five times faster than the average kid) taking up space in his house. Peter’s chest tightens.  You need to fix this as soon as possible so you can get out of their hair. You’re a burden, Peter.

“Hey,” Hawkeye introduces himself, his hand outstretched to shake Peter’s. “I’m Clint. This is my wife, Laura,” He points to a brown-haired woman with a cheeky-looking kid a little older than Morgan in his arms, “These are my sons, Nate and Cooper,” A blond kid who looks around ten waves excitedly, “And my daughters, Lila and Wanda.” Wanda’s cheeks go red as he says it but waves at Peter regardless. 

“Hey, I remember you!” Peter blurts out. “From the airport, right? Germany?”

Wanda looks up, her curls bouncing. Her sister leans against her, arms folded. “Yes. You are the Spider-Child.” Peter nods. He remembers her from the compound, too – the red energy that swarmed the battlefield he’d spend days talking to Ned about. “I am sorry you have to put up with all this.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” He puts a squirming Morgan down who immediately races over to Nathaniel.  I’m sorry you guys have to bother with me,  he wants to apologise, but he thinks May refer him to a therapist if he does. 

“You guys hungry?” Clint asks after a tense moment, face breaking into a smile. He ushers his kids inside and smiles at Peter. “I hope you like hot dogs.”

_

Everyone in the Barton household is happy.

Cooper tells bad toilet-themed jokes at the dinner table and Clint pisses himself with laughter at every single one. He likes Star Wars and asks for Peter for his opinion on the sequels. He rants about his favourite characters for a solid ten minutes until his mom has to shut him up. Laura spends the entire time watching her husband, her hand linked with his under the table.Peter remembers absently she Vanished along with her kids, who Hawkeye spent years avenging. Lila flicks peas into Cooper’s lap, laughing with Wanda every time one successfully lands there. Wanda talks in smiles, grinning at all of her siblings, happy to be a part of the fun. Morgan fits right in, chattering animatedly with Nate about her favourite TV shows. Even Happy looks content, his head rested in in his palm as he looks at Peter’s aunt who grins back. It’s all really beautiful, and Peter finds himself missing Tony more than ever.

“Peter,” Clint whispers. Peter’s head snaps up. Clint’s standing behind him, a worried expression painted on his face. “Come with me, kiddo.”

The chair squeaks on the floor far too loud as Clint directs him outside, beer in his left hand, his right free to push open the front door. Only half of the silvery moon is visible in the sky: the rest is hidden by the thick canopy the trees surrounding the Avenger’s property. Clint watches the light disappear and reappear on the fields as the moon fades behind clouds. He leans on the deck railing, his flannel shirt trailing over the edge. “I don’t know you very well, but I’m a trained spy, and you definitely don’t look too good. What’s up?”

_I don’t feel so good, Mr. Stark – we won, Mr. Stark, we won, Tony – you killed him. You killed Tony._ Peter presses his palms into his eyes to clear the images flashing in his head. “I’m fine,” He whispers, voice cracking.

“Sure.” Hawkeye smirks. “Is this about your aunt and Happy?” He wiggles his eyebrows and Peter gags.

“What - no!” He stutters. “I’m happy for her. Really.” Clint raises an eyebrow and waves his free hand. He sips his drink as Peter tries to formulate words.

“I just.. All this media stuff, running away – this is all happening because I was stupid. If I was more careful, or, or if I was never Spider-Man none if this would have happened.”  
  
“Okay,” Clint says, leaning back in the deck chair, “That’s one way of thinking about it. The other way is without Spider-Man how many people would have died in New York? How many people would have lost their lives to that bird man arms dealer?” He snorts. “How many owners would never see their cats again?”

Peter laughs, staring at his lap.

“If you didn’t stop the fishbowl bitch I think England would be pretty dead right now,” The marksman continues, “Thanos might have won. Your friends and teachers – whoever was on that school trip – would have been killed. You make the world a better place, Peter.”

“Not me,” Peter interjects, “Spider-Man. Peter Parker just fucks everything up.”

“Language,” Clint laughs. “You see Spider-Man and Peter as two different people. But you can’t have one without the other, can you?”

Peter hesitates, breath hitching. “I guess not,” He mumbles. Barton softens, his hand ruffling Peter’s hair.

“Listen. I’ve done a lot of bad things in these past five years. I shouldn’t have been allowed back – I shouldn’t have been allowed any of this.” He gestures to his house, the empty fields and the bedrooms upstairs where his children are sleeping. “I told the ‘Tasha that, and do you know what she said?” Peter shakes his head. “We’re all human. We all make mistakes. And that’s okay.” He smiles at the spiderling beside him. 

“In a couple of days Pepper’s gonna clear your name of all charges,” Clint tells him. “She did the same for me after the Blip - Tony did the same for Nat.” 

“Really?” Peter exhales shakily, swallowing the good news and waiting for it to sink in. 

“Really, really,” The older man says. “You’re gonna be okay, kid. This’ll be over before you know it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn’t think this story was very good, but apparently you guys love it, so i’ve re-written chapter 4 and changed my ideas for the coming chapters in hopes that it’ll be better. thank you all for reading. 
> 
> if u get my shrek reference ur God


	5. Chapter 5

“Hey, honey.”

Peter groans, squeezing his eyes shut and rolling over. It’s too warm in his bed to even think about getting up for school. It’ll be fine to skip one day.

“You gotta get up,” Another voice persists. _Wait, who else lives with us?_

Confused, Peter opens his eyes blearily, waiting for his senses to focus. An unfamiliar room comes into view. There are photos hung on a wall with another family in the frame. Those definitely aren’t in his apartment. “Where?” He croaks out, blinking furiously and looking over his shoulder. A grinning toddler stares back at him, peeping over the back of the couch he’s lying on. Her determined and stubborn smile reminds him of someone. 

Everything rushes back to him so fast he almost falls over. He’s in Clint Barton’s house, sharing a pull-out sofa with Tony Stark’s five-year-old while her mother arrives at court, fighting his battles for him. He blinks and turns around to see a beige blob stroking his hair. Peter’s senses sharpen and May’s face comes into focus, Happy’s hand on her shoulder behind her. “What time is it?” He asks.

One of the perks of being a wanted criminal or whatever he is these days is there’s no need to get up for school. Can’t really learn about algebra when half the world thinks he’s a criminal. “After lunch,” May says.

“It’s one thirty-two,” Happy adds, checking his watch, “Pepper’s about to go on television.”

“Can I,” Peter tries, “Could I watch?”

Happy holds his arms out for Morgan to jump into as May sits down on the couch beside him, moving the sixty-odd blankets that Clint deposited on him in the early hours of the morning. “You hungry, kiddo?”

“Cheeseburgers?” Morgan grins at the older man, waving goodbye at Peter as she’s carried out of the room.

May smiles sympathetically at him, one corner of her mouth turning up. She shifts one arm behind his shoulders and tugs him in close, her other hand still stroking his tangled curls. “You need a shower, hun,” She declares, her nose wrinkling dramatically.

Peter leans into her embrace. “Did you come here just to tell me I stink?”

His aunt laughs, her wire-rimmed glasses slipping down her nose. “Nah. I just wanted to talk.”

The spiderling sits up, blankets flying backwards. “What? Am I in trouble?”

She laughs again. “God, no. It’s just – everything’s happening so fast lately, I haven’t really had a chance to spend time with my favourite nephew.”

“I’m you’re _only_ nephew,” Peter mumbles, leaning back into her lavender-smelling shirt, “I’m sorry, May. I didn’t mean for this to happen. You’re missing work because of me.”

May glares at him, one eyebrow raised. “You say sorry one more time and I’ll make you clean the toilet for a year when we get back,” She announces, moving a finger to lift his chin so she can look in his eyes. “Look at me, Peter. You’re not a burden. This isn’t your fault. Besides, you hardly ever took sick days in the last couple of years so I’ve got quite a few up my sleeve.”

The teenager offers a watery smile in return, falling back into her embrace so she can’t see the tears already pooling in his eyes. He seems to be always on the verge of a breakdown these days. “I’m-“

“Cleaning the toilet for a year!” May reminds him shrilly, ruffling her nephew’s hair one last time and standing up. Her own eyes are rimmed with red. Her hand sneaks into the back pocket of her jeans. “Got something that might cheer you up.” She produces a sleek black StarkPhone, not his and not hers. “MJ and Ned’s numbers are in it. Only call them, okay?”

She deposits the phone in his open hands, sauntering back off into the spare bedroom she and Happy are currently sharing. The mobile turns on immediately, unlocking as the technology scans his face. It reminds him of EDITH for a second, the glasses he has locked away in the bottom of the suitcase May haphazardly packed. “Um,” Peter looks down at the screen.

“Long time no see, Peter!” FRIDAY announces cheerfully. “Who would you like to call first?”

-

MJ doesn’t have friends. She has her books, her protests, her crisis journal. That’s been enough to satisfy her for years, but for some random reason as soon as she starts at Midtown she suddenly wants to read with someone else, go to protests with a friend, sketch a boyfriend.

So, she joins the Academic Decathlon team, full of epic losers, and sits with two of them on a table at Lunch. MJ doesn’t expect a friendship to blossom between the three of them at all, but by the end of the term Ned and Peter have moved from their end of the table to hers. Ned’s a complete nerd: all Star Wars and coding, video games and Lego, and he texts _way_ too much, but he’s funny and stupid and she doesn’t go a few moments without smiling when they hang out. Peter’s a little quieter, all chemistry and physics and annoying science puns. He spends his time either missing or hanging at the Stark Tower, interning. The boy’s secretive and a shit liar but adorable and acts half the time like a puppy. A puppy that’s been kicked, because after the Blip he comes back broken, no more hesitant smiles or laughing fits. Tony Stark’s dead, but surely an intern wouldn’t know him so well that they flinch at every single Iron Man tribute?

“What’s up with Parker?” She demands, throwing herself on Ned’s bed and waiting for an answer. As per usual, the dude can’t give her a straight answer. “He’s sad,” Ned tells her, Captain Obvious. “Why?” Instead of answering, she had taken the subway home, formulating a plan to cheer Peter up on the Europe school trip, because sue her if this absolute dingus stole her heart. When the trip finally rolls around all her plans go out the window. All MJ wants to do now is visit museums with Peter, discover awesome new words with Peter, debunk conspiracy theories about the Eifel Tower with Peter, but before she can even ask he’s gone and in his place is a knockoff Spider-Man teaming up with a green fishbowl man fighting monsters that look like they’ve been birthed straight out of a volcano. It’s easy to believe Peter’s just running for cover or to find a teacher, but the webs that Night Monkey shoots are exactly the same as the ones Spider-Man shot in Washington when Peter had disappeared and found in the early hours of the morning on Coney Island, the morning after Peter had fled from the Homecoming dance. All of the facts are pointing to the same answer – her crush is Spider-Man.

Turns out he likes her back after she confronts him with the knowledge she’s accumulated about his alter ego. “Would you want to go on a date with me?” He suggests, voice impossibly soft. They don’t really get a chance to until after Peter’s saved London from Mysterio. “I like it better broken,” She tells him on London Bridge as the boy limps towards her, scared shitless.

MJ’s not sure what she’s expecting to come out of a relationship with a grieving teenage superhero. Probably not swinging through Queens clutching his neck while he rests his and her lives in a fucking web, and definitely not having their first date interrupted by angry mobsters wanting Peter dead. Nope, not in her life plan at all.

She spends the first couple of nights back at home not sleeping, sorting through her missed calls and checking up on the memes she’s missed in the five years she was dead. She follows every news source about Peter and tweets angrily at 36-year-old dickheads pausing their Fortnite games to rave about Spider-Man being a murderer. Peter’s phone’s been taken. She doesn’t know the bodyguard that protected them in the Crown Jewels Safe’s phone number, nor Peppers, and she feels absolutely useless.

“What am I supposed to do, Ned?” She complains to her friend over the phone. MJ’s locked herself in her bedroom, ignoring her mother’s furious knocking after seeing her on the news with Spider-Man. “I can’t not do anything.”

“Write him a letter?” Ned suggests, computer keys clacking in the background. “Oof, hang on – Betty’s calling.”

Sighing she hangs up, flopping on her bed. The knocking persists. “Go away, Mom,” She yells, rolling over. It stops and MJ sighs, pressing her palms into her eye sockets and wincing. Everything’s been so hard – she tried to go to school as a distraction on Thursday. She made it ten minutes before her locker was swarmed and she ran out of the gates with Ned in tow, holding back tears. All she wants to do is call her boyfriend.

The knocking starts up again. “I said,” She yells, teeth gritted as she picks up the nearest object to pitch at the door, “Go away!” Her hand vibrates. The object MJ picked up to throw is her phone, the screen flashing (She’s a Gen Z kid, did you expect her to have it off silent?) with an incoming call . _No Caller ID,_ the phone reads. _PleasebePeterpleasebePeter_ , she prays, swiping the bottom of the screen to accept the call.

“Hello?” MJ answers, hoping her voice isn’t shaking too badly. 

“MJ?”

She almost drops her phone, scrambling off of her covers to stand in the centre of her room, a hand over her mouth. “Peter?”

“Sorry I didn’t call, I didn’t have a phone and Clint – Hawkeye, I’m staying at his house, how cool is that? You have to tell Ned, he’ll freak out.”

“Peter, you dork,” MJ laughs happily. He seems fine, back to his usual rambling self. “Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” Her boyfriend says, “Well, I’m allowed on phone for a little bit because Ms. Potts – Mrs. Stark, uh, Pepper’s court thing’s on TV and May thought talking to you – you guys might cheer me up. I’m going to watch the broadcast anyway – I was, I was wondering if you might want to watch it with me?”

He sounds so hesitant, like he’s terrified to drag her further into this media shitstorm. “Of course,” She assures him, pulling up the live-streaming court case on her laptop. “I’ve got it up right here.”

“Thanks, MJ,” She can hear him smiling, “I lo- you’re amazing.”

_

_“You have absolutely no proof Spider-Man is a criminal.”_

Peter’s biting his non-existent nails, the StarkPhone resting on his lap. He put it down after the live-stream started, afraid he’d crush it into pieces.

_“Do you have proof Mr. Beck is a criminal?”_

The television is blaring in the empty living room, turned down as to not disturb the Bartons setting up a game of baseball outside. He can see Morgan giggling on the deck steps, her head resting in her hands, completely oblivious of the entire situation. Nathaniel throws a ball at her feet, beckoning for the little girl to come join them. He can hear May’s apprehensive footsteps on the stairs, deciding whether to sit by Peter or give him space.

“-Peter? You still there, dork?” MJ’s tinny voice jerks him back into real life. “Pepper’s gonna show the videos with Beck; you should mute the TV.”

“Thanks,” He mumbles in reply, fumbling for the remote. The front door bangs open and Morgan rushes in, her hair flying wildly around her face.

“Peter!” She whines, diving on the boy. “Is Mommy on yet?”

“Is that Morgan?” MJ asks through the phone, a smile evident in her voice. “Hi Morgan!”

“Petey, It’s your girlfriend!” The five-year-old giggles. MJ laughs through the phone and she snuggles up next to the boy, eyes glued to the television. “Are you gonna be my sister?” She questions, cheery and straight to the point. “Cos you’re with Petey, and Daddy said he was my big brother?”

The girl’s no longer staring at her mother showing recording to a packed-out courthouse but up at Peter, her big brown eyes impossibly wide. The boy in question is – shocker – holding back tears. _Why didn’t you ever tell me,_ he thinks bitterly before shaking his head in an attempt to rid the toxic thought.

 _Because he moved on,_ Mysterio says, but it’s not real and there’s Tony, hands stained with grave dirt, Iron Man mask crumbling like Peter’s own skin had, the arc reactor on his chest flickering twice and extinguishing like Tony’s fading heartbeat Peter couldn’t get out of his head for days. _You killed him, Peter_ , Beck grins, trying on the glasses. _You should have been the one who snapped; you had the gauntlet, but instead you took him away from his family, and now you’re going to do the same to the Bartons, your aunt, your friends._

Peter tries to breathe in but pixels and deceptions fill his lungs, MJ’s screams and wheels of the train thudding over his back fill his ears. _Give me the glasses,_ Quentin smiles coldly, _They’re not for you – it says the next Tony Stark. You’re nothing but a murderer._

“You have to breathe, honey,” Beck’s simulation ebbs away to the corners of his eyes as May’s hands gently cup his face, pulling him back, away from the train and the tulip fields. He can feel a splintering crack across the screen of the phone still in his hand. It tumbles to the floor, only to be picked up by someone.

“It’s okay,” Morgan is saying, her voice thick, “My Daddy got scared sometimes.” Her voice gets fainter; she’s being carried away.

“Can you tell me where you are?” May presses gently, her hand weaving in and out of Peter’s soft curls.

“Mr. Barton’s,” He gasps out, opening his eyes and waiting for the black spots to disappear. “M’sorry.”

“Toilet cleaning, kiddo,” His aunt nudges him. “Can you tell me what you were just doing? Do you remember?”

He’s suddenly aware of the dampness on his cheeks and hastily wipes the fat tears dribbling down his chin away with the back of his hand. “Was calling MJ,” He whispers, eyes on his lap. “Watching the news?”

“Yeah, baby,” May smiles, moving to the couch next to him. “You should have a look at what happened.”

Shakily, he directs his wavering gaze to the still muted TV. The channel’s been changed to a live broadcast on a credible news network where a woman in a blue dress is staring straight at the camera, microphone in hand. Red and blue words flash across the screen.

“Do you see it?” MJ asks through the phone, her ecstatic voice metallic. “Peter, on the news?”

Upstairs he hears a whoop of delight followed by a ‘holy shit’. A jet rumbles in the distance. PEPPER POTTS SUCCESSFUL, the headline blares across the TV as handcuffed rednecks – the ones that beat him under the billboard – are frog marched from the courthouse dressed in orange. The camera cut to a red and blue themed party in the dead centre of Queens. WELCOME BACK TO THE NEIGHBOURHOOD, SPIDEY, a banner reads. His smiling face is back on television, next to the fateful words ‘cleared of all charges’.

“Holy shit,” He cries, ditching the couch to stand up in shock, hands on his surprised face. He turns to May who’s beaming, tears in her eyes. “I can go home?”

“You can go home!” His aunt laughs, tackling her boy in a rib-crushing hug.

“I can go home!” Peter tells MJ, all thoughts of Beck wiped from his brain. “I’m coming home!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys hope this wasn't too bad


	6. Chapter 6

> May’s first impression of Tony Stark was that he was exactly like what they made celebrities out to be. Self-absorbed, narcissistic and heartless - he had barged into her apartment without warning and offered her boy an internship. Obviously, in her opinion, all he wanted was to make a good name for himself, but he had made Peter so happy, happier than he had been in a long time, and so she had kept her thoughts about the billionaire private. That was until Peter had come home distraught; Tony had taken away the internship (which she had found out later was really just his suit), and May had almost stormed the tower and murdered the man then and there. She had only lost her cool when she found out about her son’s alter ego and Stark’s involvement in the whole matter – stealing the genius’s number off of Peter’s phone and ringing him up then and there. It had seemed, she had thought as she picked up her phone and dialled his number, that her first impression was right.

She couldn’t have been more wrong. Time went by and Peter started to stay weekends at the tower and compound, coming home elated with a new project in his hands. Tony would willingly ring May – yes, willingly – every week and update her about the suit’s records and safety upgrades he’d installed and eventually Peter would stay some nights at the Tower if she had a long shift. Peter was the son Tony never had. She knew this when she sat the man down and asked him if he’d like joint custody over the boy. Stark had nodded happily, signing the papers in his loopy signature and tucking them away in his desk. He never got to use them, however, because days later the Blip – Decimination, Vanishing, whatever you want to call it – happened and May and Peter were dead for five years. When she came back in her very dusty apartment (Stark had bought it so nobody could move in), Tony was dead and Peter was shattered.

It broke her heart that Stark didn’t even get a chance to tell Peter he loved him. Everything that happened in Europe Tony would know how to fix. He would sit May down at talk her through everything that had happened just like he did after every mission, he’d pull fifty thousand lawyers out of his ass and sue the shit out of media companies faster than you could say ‘Iron-Man’. But Tony was dead, and May was sure there was no fixing this whole debacle.

Then came Pepper Potts, Tony’s wife. She knew Peter wasn’t as close to in the slightest as he was to Stark, and May could count the times she’d spoken to Pepper on one hand, but the woman didn’t seem to mind, diving into court just months after he’d been widowed with a stony face, determined to fix it all. “Peter’s going to have to sign the Accords,” Pepper had sat her down before she left for court, explaining things not unalike Tony did, “They just called me – the court needs to see his allegiance to the United State and not Beck in writing.” The older woman’s determined demeanour had collapsed after that.

“I’m sorry,” Pepper had cried, furiously wiping her tears away.

“You’re fine,” May had replied, “It’s better to let it out than keep it in. I know how you feel.” Pepper had smiled through her tears, accepting the comfort. “Thankyou,” She had said, and with those words a friendship had been struck. May put her full trust in the woman to restore the peace in their lives and watched with a smile as the woman fought for both her own family safety and May’s on national television.

“You’re a god,” May says now, boarding the jet and waving goodbye to the Barton’s back on the lawn. “Thankyou for everything you’ve done for my family.”

“No, thank you,” Pepper replies, stepping into the plane, “Peter did more for Tony then he realises. It’s my job to repay that.”

-

“One hour until arrival,” FRIDAY says softly as to not disturb Morgan who’s currently asleep on her mother’s lap, teddy clutched firmly in one hand and her mother’s arm in another. Pepper strokes the girl’s hair, offering Peter a warm smile from across the aisle.

“Are you nervous?” She whispers.

Peter takes out his earphones, pausing the playlist MJ shared with him and Ned a year – six years ago. “You can’t be my friend if you listen to Rihanna and Jay Z and that’s it,” She had chastised. “Not really,” He tells Pepper. In reality, he’s shitting himself. It’s not the Accords aspect he’s worried about (Peter did fight alongside the Avengers all for the signing back in Germany) but the prospect of signing – writing on the same piece of paper half of the Avengers did in front of the most powerful people in government is slightly terrifying.

Ms. Potts beams, exhaling through her nose. “I would be too,” She sees straight past Peter.

Peter grins half-heartedly and in reply tucks his phone away in his pocket, shuffling in his seat so he can look out the window. They’re on route to Washington, where he’ll sign in the White House and then fly home to Queens where he’ll say goodbye to Pepper, Morgan and Happy and finally get to sleep in his own bed. The Washington Monument flies past, the sandstone he once dived off disappearing into the grey clouds. Peter grins, his fingertips touching the freezing glass. Every mile they cover is one step closer to normality.

“Wait,” He whispers, cogs churning in his head. _The Washington Monument is one or two miles away from the White House and FRIDAY just said we’ve got an hour to go._ His heart plummets deep into his chest, anxiety pooling in his stomach. _Why didn’t you warn me, Peter Tingle,_ he thinks, turning to Happy.

The man’s asleep, May resting peacefully on his shoulder, the armrest up between them. He can feel Pepper’s concerned gaze on the back of his head. “Hap,” Peter mutters. “Happy!”

“W’o’s there,” The bodyguard mumbles deliriously, his hands moving to rub away the sleep in his eyes, “I’ll k’ll you.”

The spiderling ignores his tired threats and shakes the man awake, chewing on his bottom lip anxiously. “Happy, where are we going?”

“The White House,” Happy answers. His eyebrows knit together. “Why?”

Behind him, Pepper leans over Morgan and swipes at her watch, looking at the holographic map on her StarkWatch. Her face pales as she answers for Peter. “We just passed over it.”

Happy’s hand immediately moves to the holster by his side. He leaps out of his seat, tie jerking forward out of his pristine suit. “What? I programmed the jet to fly directly there.” He marches up the aisle toward the cockpit, gun in hand. “You two stay here – I swear to god if something happens _now,_ just when everything was looking up…”

Peter, as per usual, ignores the adult’s orders and scrambles for his webshooters in his backpack, pulling them on his wrists jut as Happy knocks on the cockpit door. “Hello? Anybody home?”

The door slides open. A bored-looking pilot peeps his head out the doorway, eyebrow raised. “Can I help you?” He says.

“Yeah,” Happy pushes past him to where the other pilot is sitting, “Why the fu- hell are you on this plane?”

“To fly it?” The pilot answers, running a hand through his thick white hair. He’s in his mid-sixties, Peter guesses, and for some reason looks startlingly familiar.

“It flies itself,” Happy loads the gun. “You have three seconds to tell me what you want and why you’re here.”

Peter shakes May awake, silently gesturing for her and Pepper to take Morgan and get as far back from the cockpit as possible. Pepper presses a still-sleeping Morgan to her chest and takes May’s hand, racing into the toilet stalls at the back of the empty jet. Peter has a fleeting memory of reading the newspaper reports of his parent’s deaths and almost throws up on the seat he’s crouched in all over his webshooters. A cock of another gun – not Happy’s – brings Peter back to Earth. Both pilots have their loaded pistols aimed at Happy’s surprised face.

“Can’t you guys give me a break?” Spider-Man quips, shooting a web at the doorway and swinging in feet first, slamming into the elderly man’s body and sending it flying into the windscreen where a crack splinters across the thick glass. He turns to the other pilot, who’s shaking hands are raised in the air. Something about the pilot’s stance seems off. He narrows his eyes, turning to Happy for reassurance.

Except Happy’s not there. “Hap?” Peter calls out uselessly, turning around. _Oh no,_ he swears, _not again._ Praying he’s not right the spiderling sends a taser web into the control panel, watching with a heavy heart as blue pixels skate across his vision.

“I killed him – how is this real?” He whirls around, heart in his throat. The crack on the windscreen disappears and he takes a stumble backwards, right where the shaking pilot was previously standing.

“What you put on the internet stays there forever,” The man he shoved into the windscreen mimics a schoolteacher. He’s no longer unconscious, now grinning, standing seemly fine in front of the vigilante. “I really, really don’t want to have to do this.”

Spider-Man dives at him regardless, shooting a web at the top of the cabin with his right hand and swinging in head-first, grenade webs flying from his left hand. “You don’t have to!” He cries. _Please don’t please -_

The pilot sighs. He almost sounds sad - regretful. “Did you really think it would be that easy?”

The scene changes. Suddenly Peter’s in his suit, the black and red one he hasn’t worn since Queens. They’re on a building somewhere in New York City. “Why are you doing this?” He hates how weak he sounds. Hates the tremor that’s creeped back into his voice, hates the octave it’s climbed to. “Why me?” He whispers.

“It’s all part of the superhero package, kiddo,” The man says.

_Hey kiddo, wanna come work in the lab today after school? Kiddo, that’s disgusting, why would you put pineapple on pizza? Kid, I’m gonna catch you, trust me -_

“You don’t get to call me that,” Peter snaps, his fists colliding with the man’s crumpled business shirt. He marches over to the side of the building and dangles him off of it with one hand.

“Peter, what are you doing?” He’s holding May’s shirt in his left hand. She scrambled uselessly at his iron grip, panic seeping onto her face. “Let me go!”

 _Thisisn’treal. This isn’t real._ He jumps back, holding his screams in as the illusion of his aunt yells for help as she falls to the ground, silencing as she thuds to the sidewalk, limbs sprained at awkward angles. _Oh my god - oh my god._

“You’re making this really hard. I can see why Beck didn’t want to hurt you.”

He whirls around. They’re back at the bar, orange juice with a straw in his shaking, gloved hand. The pilot is sitting next to him instead of Beck, frothing beer next to his arm.

“Why am I here?” Peter spits out.

“Because you took Beck from us - dick move, by the way, he gave us all a new life, a new goal. We weren’t going to forget him or the project we worked _years_ on just like that now, were we?” The man snorts, shaking his head. “Just because our frontrunner is dead doesn’t mean our plan ends.”

A sense of dread envelops Peter. It feels like his life is one track of terror playing on repeat, over and over and over again. “Why,” He tries, wishing he had his mask to hide the tears he’s trying so desperately to keep from falling, “Why do you have to do this?”

The pilot sounds very tired when he answers. “Everyone on our team, we share a common goal. Beck wanted heroism, we just want listeners. And with EDITH,” His forlorn expression swaps for a sneer, “We can have as many listeners as we want. Everyone believes what you see on TV these days.”

Peter dives forward, shooting a web at the man, but before it even touches him they’re back in the plane. It’s rocking and shaking like a leaf, alarms blaring. Oxygen masks drop from the roof. “What did you do?” Peter hisses. His spidey-sense is skyrocketing so much his hands are trembling.

“I really needed EDITH,” The guy says apologetically, as if that clears everything up.

“Needed?” Spider-Man echoes.

Grinning from ear to ear, the older man holds up the glasses. “Sorry about the illusions - you’re probably sick of them. They were all a distraction.” He drags out the ‘a’ in ‘all’, pocketing the frames and pushing his own further back up his nose.

Peter shoots a web at his wrist, elated when it makes contact. He jerks the man forward and rips the glasses out of his pants, flipping away from the scene as fast as his legs can carry him. “Happy!” He cries, racing to the back of the plane. “Morgan! Pepper! _May!”_

There’s no sign of anyone. He screams bitterly and slams his fist through the toilet stall wall, yelling louder when he finds nobody inside. “Where are they?” He roars, tears falling freely. “Where the _fuck_ are they - _why can’t you just leave me alone?”_

“That’s not a part of our plan, I’m afraid,” The man replies from the cabin doorway. The sky behind him turns an orange-red. A loud beeping echoes through the cabin as the flames lick the glass windows and burst through the windscreen. Peter barely has time to look away before the plane slams into the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok guys bear with me
> 
> next chapter will prolly be in three/four days. sorry for the wait.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls don't hate me this'll probably get better

It would be an understatement to suggest that Peter Parker had been through a lot. He lost both parents to an unexplained and unexpected plane crash at the age of six and had his uncle bleed out in his hands not even a decade later. The tragedies left Peter with nothing but a truckload of trauma and grief, something no child should ever have to deal with.

“Nothing can happen to us that’s worse than what already happened,” His aunt, the only remaining family member he had would tell him after a bad day. “We’ve been through the worst.” Peter believed her, he really did, but the higher power controlling his life wasn’t having a bar of it.

Apparently the universe really, really wanted Peter to disintegrate in his mentor’s arms on an alien planet and stay dead for five whole years, only to come back in the dead centre of a warzone to find the world had moved on without him in every sense and to hear his _fourth_ parental figure’s heartbeat stop. That’s not all, folks – the universe was not done yet. It sent a grieving teenage superhero to deal with a power-hungry supervillain, endure his worst nightmares _again_ and have his identity revealed to the entire world along with the belief he performed the attacks in Europe he tried so hard to stop. And then the icing on the cake; just as Peter was convinced it was all over, Beck’s team ripped him from his remaining family and stole him away.

 _This has to be it,_ he thinks now. _This has to be the worst._

He shifts his tired body up onto his elbows, eyebrows knitting together when his limbs contact a soft material. Peter blinks his exhausted eyes open. He half expects to see nothing but orange, because he’s dead, isn’t he? But his eyes can’t find the desolate orange wasteland he spent years in, only what seems to be the inside of an expensive hotel room.

Ornate walls stretch to a high ceiling where a lit chandelier illuminates the room. There are no chairs or tables on the thick carpet lining the floor, no paintings on the wallpaper-smothered wall. He supposes they took the furniture away in fear of him attacking anyone walking in. There’s a wooden door across the room from him, but a camera blinks menacingly from above the frame and he can hear footsteps pacing back and forth outside. _No escaping, then,_ he thinks.

With a jolt, Spider-Man remembers the plane crash and stares at his hands expectantly. If he isn’t dead, he should have at least one scratch – even an enhanced teenager can’t survive a plane accident without an ailment. When he can’t find a single mark, he sinks back into the cushioned bed and lets out a ragged sob, bile pooling in his throat. It was all a simulation. Beck’s team is back. Even after death, Beck is still winning.

“Fuck,” He whispers, raising his steely eyes to the door across the room and speaking up. “Hey, guys! Sorry to interrupt your vlog, but I’d really prefer if we cut the chase and skipped to the bit where you all introduced your lovely faces.”

There’s a cough from the opposite corner of the room. “Good morning, Mr. Parker,” The man from the illusions says. He’s still wearing the same glasses, blue business shirt tucked professionally into his black pants. Peter almost screams at the sight of him.  


“Goddamn Peter Tingle,” He curses himself. _Why didn’t you warn me there was a_ freaking man _in the room?_ “Oh, we’re using formalities now?” Peter quips instead, speaking in true Spider-Man fashion. “Hi, Mr. Criminal, how can I help you today?”

“It’s William, Mr. Parker.” The man crosses his arms, adjusting his glasses. “I have a proposal for you.”

Peter sucks in a deep breath of air, blinking away paranoia and exhaling shakily. “Does it involve me going home safely with my unharmed family?”

The pilot – William – stares at his watch timidly. “Not exactly, no.” Peter can tell the guy’s clearly new to the whole criminal mastermind thing. He’d be giggling if he wasn’t being held captive.

“What do you want?” He repeats.

“You were supposed to sign the Accords seven hours and thirty minutes ago, Mr. Parker,“ William states. “If you don’t, people are going to start thinking you’re siding with us, er, my team after all. You either give us the glasses, or we’ll put out another video. I was the one who edited the clip filmed by Quentin,” He puffs out his chest proudly, “And I can do it again.”

Peter can feel his chest tightening, ribs pushing on the scar from the train so many weeks ago. His breathing quickens, his pulse skyrocketing. William continues. “The glasses are in our possession – sadly, however, Tony Stark _was_ a genius, and the only way we can use EDITH is if you switch the control to me like you did with Beck.”

The ‘was’ William uses cuts through Peter like a sharp knife and he suppresses a flinch. “Where’s Ms. – Mrs. Stark? The people on the plane, where are they?”

“They arrived at their destination hours ago. Just without you and the old man, of course.”

“Happy?” He blurts. “What did you do to him?”

William shifts from foot to foot and the knot in Peter’s stomach tightens. “I said, what did you do to him?”

“Nothing, nothing,” The man hurries. “You can see him, if you’d like – only if you let me show you around first. That might help you make a choice.”

Peter guesses he doesn’t really have a choice.

-

To anyone looking in, the Stark family was comprised of three members. To any of the Starks, there were four.   


Sure, she had never ever seen her big brother, but there were photos all over the house with him and her Daddy and he had a room in the house – a red one. She knew a lot about him; her father would tell her stories of Peter every night before she went to bed and show her recordings taken from her older brother’s suit. Morgan would listen to tales and watch footage where Spider-Man would swing through the city, saving people from bad guys and stopping them from stealing things from the people in the big city.

“Hey, Mr. Stark,” She heard one night, sitting on the bottom step of the staircase waiting for a juice pop, “Not much happened today, but I saved a kitten from a tree and returned it to the owner. It was really cute – a ginger one! The owner, she’s really nice, she gave me a cookie. Uh – you probably don’t care, I’m sorry. Have a good night, Mr. Stark.”

As her Dad paused the recording and looked up from her phone, Morgan saw he’d been crying. “What’s wrong?” She asked.

“You should be asleep, Morguna,” He’d told her. “Want me to take you back to bed, sweetie?”

Guessing tonight was not a night she was going to get an extra juice pop, she nodded. “What’s wrong?”

It took her father a little longer to answer this time. He picked her up and carried her back to her room, peeling back the covers and tucking her in like he did every night. Tony sat down beside her bed like he did when he was starting a story. “Four years ago, there was a really bad man. He had a magic hand, and when he wore it, he could do whatever he wanted. I – everyone tried really, _really_ hard to stop him, but he got his wish.”

“What did he wish for?” Morgan knew what she would wish for: juice pops.

Her Dad looked very sad again when he answered. “The bad man wanted half of everyone in the Universe to – to die.”

“Like Fred?” Morgan remembered the caterpillar Daddy had squished with his lawn mower. She was really sad when Fred died, and she didn’t even know Fred. It must have been sadder for her Dad if his son died. When Tony nodded, she snuggled closer to him.

That was a year ago. Today, Fred the Caterpillar was still dead, buried under Morgan’s favourite rock, but Peter, her brother that had died five years ago had came back to life along with the rest of the world. The only person who hadn’t come back was her Daddy.

“He’s not going to,” Her mother had explained with teary eyes as she carried her in from the funeral, pulling an orange flavoured juice pop out of the fridge. “I’m sorry, honey, he’s not coming back.”

It’s been months and she guesses her mother’s right, because her father hasn’t come home. Peter had, turned up in their lake house all covered in bandages. He told her stories of her Dad she had never heard before, stories of him saving the world again and again and again. “Do you miss him?” She had asked as they boarded the jet, stuffed toy in her hand.   


“Yeah,” Peter picked her up.

“Are you gonna leave, too?” She said.

Peter buckled her into her seat and took a deep breath. “’Course not, Morgan.”

Now, Morgan cries into her mother’s shoulder as Peter’s aunt talks wildly to the police searching the landed vehicle for her brother. Morgan really didn’t want to lose Petey too, not after she had just met him.

-

Peter really wants to sit down.

They were a long way from home. He couldn’t tell where; William was purposefully avoiding exit and windows so the teenager couldn’t guess their location. What seemed to be once a normal, posh hotel was now a bustling base, lobbies filled with tech and holographic screens, bedrooms turned into temporary offices. Armed guards ushered him and William down the hallway.

“Once we get our hands on the Stark technology,” William was explaining, “My team’ll be rich. We’ll be able to manufacture drones and use binarily augmented retro-framing on a large scale. Everyone will turn to us for help, and-“ He stares at the teen at his side, looking anywhere but William’s face and clearly not paying attention to his spiel. “Peter,” The older man snaps, his patience lost, “Are you even listening?”

“Hmm?” Peter hums, glancing up at him. “What? Yeah, of course.”

“Are you going to help us?”

_If you give them the glasses your reputation will be safe, but Earth – hell, the universe will be in danger. If you don’t give up the glasses you’ll be a wanted man again, but Earth’ll be fine until they can hack into EDITH._ He weighs the options out, shaking his head feverishly and pressing the palms of his hands into his eye socket, holding the despair inside. _I’m sorry, May, MJ, Ned,_ he thinks.

“What a shame,” A familiar voice calls. It’s Beck, fishbowl helmet on, “You could have helped us out heaps.”

“Go away!” He screams. There’s nothing he can fight Mysterio away with; he’s just a kid without the suit. He clenches his fists anyway, fingernails breaking the skin of his palms. _Come on, Peter, this isn’t real, it’s not real it’snotreal thisisn’treal._ “I said no, William! Leave me _alone!_ ”

His fist smashes into the drone in front of him. The technology splutters, sparks spewing from the panel Peter smashed. It goes down but not without a fight; the drone shoots before combusting. Peter dimly remembers his past self-dodging the drones so easily, but that Peter seems like he’s from a different universe, a different timeline. He’s just so tired. And so Spider-Man does absolutely nothing as the laser comes into contact with his skin. “The answer’s no, Mr. Criminal,” He forces out, looking up at William through his eyelashes, blinking away the tears clumped on them, ready to fall.

There’s a distant shout as the guards that flanked William pull him off the ground and march him away, but Peter’s mind is so far away from his body.

“Oh, kid,” Someone says, but he doesn’t want any more simulations, no more fakes. The universe can pick on someone else for a second. Peter closes his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had it all written out and word decided to be a little bitch and crash so I had to re-write this. im going back to school tomorrow so the next chapter might be a bit of a wait.


	8. Chapter 8

The first thing Happy remembers thinking is _fuck._ He’s not a smart bloke – smart enough to pass school, sure, but not Tony Stark or Peter Parker level smart – and he didn’t really catch on to the whole simulation business until he awoke in the corner of a strange room without his gun and phone and with an aching head.

Happy doesn’t know what time it is or where he is. He doesn’t remember anything after threatening those pilots but knowing Peter the kid probably followed him. He’s got to be somewhere inside this building, he rationalises, squeezing his eyes shut. _Please, don’t have May with you,_ he prays.

His train of thought is interrupted by a startled yell and a bang outside the cell. It’s not really a cell: there’s no dark and dreary iron bars and stone floor, but a cleverly renovated hotel room, completely barren except for the diamond-encrusted chandelier swinging from the ceiling. There’s no windows and the door’s been replaced with a heavy steel barrier he’s willing to bet money only opens one way.

“What?” Harold voices aloud. He blinks away the remnants of sleep still clinging to the corners of his eyes and shuffles up against the wall, not trusting himself to stand with the head injury he’s sporting.

The door opens suddenly, and a bloodied, familiar figure is thrust in headfirst. It’s Tony’s beloved kid, the teen that’s unfortunately grown on him like a fungus. Peter crashes into the wall, his head leaving an indent and a bloody smear on the pretty wallpaper as he slides to the floor. He’s not moving.

“Kid?” Happy calls out, heart thumping. “Hey, Parker?”

He picks himself up off the ground, head spinning only slightly. As he gets closer, he notices the state the child’s in. There’s a gory looking smear coating the spiderling’s science shirt; Happy’ll bet his hat the bang he heard was a bullet entering Peter’s frame.

Peter groans and he sighs in relief. “What happened, kid?”

“Didn’t want,” Parker takes a deep breath, flinching and pressing his hands to his abdomen, “Didn’t hand over the – EDITH.”

“Oh, shit, that again?” He curses, rolling Pete over pulling up his shirt to check the wound. The wound from the train he stitched up is still there, snaking around Peter’s ribcage. He’s too young to have that reminder. “I’m gonna check your wound, Parker.”

“M’kay,” The boy manages.

Happy remembers reading Tony’s reports on the kid, how he needed food for his healing factor to heal properly and safely. There’s probably no chance of getting any food at all in here and he swears loudly.

“That bad?” Peter musters.

“No,” Happy actually checks his wound. There’s a clean shot in his abdomen, startlingly circular. The pale skin around the wound is covered in what seems to be burns underneath all the blood. “How’d this even happen?”

“Drones. Not Droney, bad drones.” _Who’s Droney,_ Happy wants to ask as he takes off his suit jacket and rips off a good piece of material, wrapping it around the spiderling’s midsection. Peter’s eyelids are fluttering closed.

“Shit, kid, no!” He slaps Peter awake. “You can’t sleep yet, bud.”

Parker lets out a cry, pushing himself up so he’s sitting, supported by the wall behind him. His eyes are glazed over, sweat matting the neckline of his ruined science shirt. “Hap,” He exhales softly, “We gonna find a way out?”

“Yeah, Parker. I need your brains, though.”

Peter looks around the room for the first time, his mouth opening and closing as he tries to figure out what to say. Happy watches his shoulders slump as he figures out there’s nothing in the room they can use to their advantage. “Nice hotel, crap service.”

Harold snorts, moving to sit next to the boy. “You got any ideas?” The kid shakes his head, corners of his mouth twisting downward. “We’re done for – I can’t help without the fucking suit.”

“Language,” Happy reprimands unconsciously, even though he swears like a sailor. The story of Captain America telling people off for cussing was one of the funniest he’s heard from Tony.

Peter’s eyebrows furrow together. “Clint said that. S’there a story?”

He seems to be gaining a little strength, Happy notes, so there should be no harm in waiting while he reaches his current full potential. He nods, pulling Parker closer and rubbing the boy’s shoulder with his hand. “Maybe a decade ago – shit, I’m getting old, hey, don’t laugh – the Avengers went to this HYDRA base. Anyway, Tony flew into a building, and he says ‘shit’, and Cap…”

_

Ned’s been best friends with Peter Parker for as long as he can remember. The duo bonded in elementary school over Star Wars and Lego and kept their friendship strong through middle school and into high school. Their relationship somehow strengthened as girls came into the picture, as they separated into different classes and electives, even as Peter became New York’s favourite superhero.

He used to think it was the coolest thing ever, having an entire city look up to you and wear your merch to school and in public. Peter gets his face, well, mask plastered on billboards and shopfronts, is always in the Trending columns of social media platforms. He’s famous, and Ned was jealous.

He didn’t realise how hard it was, how brave his best friend had to be every day. Now, Ned watches most nights from the safety of behind his computer screen as Peter saves hundreds of people, rescuing cats from trees and stopping robberies. Eventually he’s guiding Peter through burning buildings and hostage situations with his heart in his throat because Peter doesn’t want him to feel left out, and lets Ned be his guy-in-the-chair. Peter’s the most selfless person he’s ever met, more self-sacrificing than any teenager should be. That’s the bit that’s going to get Peter killed, and Ned can’t do anything but watch.

“Peter, you idiot,” MJ groans once she finds out, practically clinging to his side as they watch the shitty quality live stream of Peter flipping off dangerous buildings. Ned’s so glad she found out; he doesn’t have to go through the panic alone. They watch him rescue puppies, prevent stabbings. Ned’s still watching when his best friend takes a beating from the Queens citizens, he’s probably saved multiple times. He’s still watching when Pepper holds a press conference and when her court case airs. He’s preparing for his and MJ’s very gloomy sleepover, and still watching as the latest news notification blares on his phone. “Peter Parker, also known as Spider-Man, has disappeared from the plane he was on yesterday morning.” An ugly old man with a moustache reads from a teleprompter.

Beside him, MJ’s eyes fill with tears. “This is the worst part about having a superhero best friend,” He offers uselessly, one arm wrapping around her for a hug. As per usual, there is nothing he can do but watch, and so he loads a clip titled _Best_ _Spider-Man Fight Scenes_ and prays Peter is safe.

_

“Hey, kid,” Tony greets him as he walks into the workshop. He’s tinkering away at one of his older suits, sparks flying from the metal. “Did you have a good day?

“Yeah, Mr. Stark,” Dream-Peter says. He sits down on one of the stools below the workbench, beaming. “We were practicing for the AcaDec competition in two weeks and I was on a team with Ned and Betty. We won like, a gazillion to nil!”

“You won?” Tony echoes, looking up from the suit. The orange and red sparks envelop his hand, fading into white as the power travels up his veins and into his shoulder. Nanoparticles from his suit attach to his hand, replicating the gauntlet.

“Sir,” Peter breathes as Mr. Stark’s arm blackens, the fingertips disintegrating into the ash left on the battlefield by Thanos’s army. The cocky smile on the older man’s face disappears to a disappointed frown, not unlike the one he gave Peter after he rescued him from the ferry. Tony’s skin burns away, leaving nothing but an empty skeleton. “If you were better, I’d still be alive. You’re nothing.”

Peter screams, edging back from dream-Tony. The Iron Man helmet attaches itself to Tony’s face and suddenly they’re back in the simulation, Beck flying over Mr. Stark’s shoulder.

“He’d be so disappointed. So would your parents, your uncle,” Beck taunts. Drones rise up behind him, lasers shooting Tony in the head. He slumps down, a buddle of black ink trailing from his skull. “You killed all of them.”

He tries to scream, but as soon as he opens his mouth the blue pixels morph into Thanos, his face shimmering like a hologram. “You could not live with your mistakes,” The Mad Titan plucks him from the ground, plunging the Nano-Tech dagger Tony tried to fight him off on Titan with into his stomach, “And where did that lead you?”

“-Back!” Thanos sounds different. “Come, on, Peter, come back!” His face is aching but it’s not because of the giant purple man.

“Parker!”

He rips his eyes open, shooting up from the ground and into a sitting position. Someone’s standing over him. Unconsciously, his index and ring finger move to the palm of his hand to tap the webshooter that’s missing from his wrist, but it’s just Happy.

“Kid, you can’t go to sleep.” Happy cries, shakily sitting back down next to him.

“S’rry,” He tries to say, but his words are slurred. Clumsily, he pulls back his ruined shirt and pokes his front. The wound has healed over but the skin around where the hole used to be is red and swollen.

“Shit,” Mr. Hogan curses. “When did this get infected?”

“Dunno,” Peter whispers. He tries to think of a time, even a date, but his brain is pounding on the inside of his skull, so he stops thinking.

“You’ve lost too much blood. We need to get you help.” Happy’s voice is fading in and out. He closes his eyes.

“Nononono,” The older man tries to slap him back awake, but Peter’s just so tired. _I’m just resting my eyes,_ he wants to say.

There’s a figure on the peaceful black landscape he sees when he closes his eyes. Too exhausted to move away, he watches it. It’s a man in a band shirt and jeans. He can smell the motor oil from here and turns away. This is it. His brain’s finally given in to the trauma and the constant illusions, he decides, as Tony’s face swims in front of his watery eyes. “Not y’u again,” He slurs, batting the image away.

“Peter,” Tony persists. “Peter.”

“S’too late,” He mumbles, “I c’nt do n’thing.” He closes his eyes as the tears start to fall, but Tony’s voice just shifts to his head.

“If you’re nothing without the suit,” Iron Man says,” Then you shouldn’t have it.”

“D’nt need to r’mind me.” _Go away go away go away go away._

“If you’re nothing without the suit,” Tony says, louder. He crouches down infront of Peter and rakes his hand through the boy’s curls. “You shouldn’t have it.”

Realisation courses through the teenager like lighting. “I d’n’t need suit?”

“Yeah, kiddo,” Mr. Stark grins, pulling Peter in for a hug. “You’re Spider-Man.”

“I’m Sp’ider-man,” He echoes.

Tony smiles. He looks younger, the grey Peter had seen only briefly in his hair gone. The wrinkles around his eyes and worry lines have mostly disappeared. So has the Arc Reactor, gone from under his ACDC shirt. “No more saving the world alone, Underoos. I miss you so much, kid, but you gotta stay safe. No more dying, got it?”

Peter nods. _This is a dream, right?_ “I miss you so much, Dad.”

“I love you, son,” Mr. Stark says.

His face is suddenly replaced with Happy’s. The man he once thought had absolutely no emotions is crying softly, his arms wrapped around Peter’s shoulders in a hug.

“Hap,” He grins. “W’re getting out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok sorry for all the cliffhangers. next chapter will either be this time next week or sooner if I ignore my drama assessment :) thank you all for reading theres like 7k reads on this story and that's amazing. thankyouuuuuuuu!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got too excited. enjoy.

The plan is pretty simple: Peter will scale the wall and hang from the chandelier while Happy makes a ruckus. He’ll jump on whoever walks in, and hopefully they’ll have keys or leave the impenetrable door open for them to walk out and find a way out of this place. It’s a pretty crappy plan, but it’s the only one they’ve come up with in the past half an hour, and Peter’s willing to try absolutely anything at this point. It doesn’t really matter if it fails or not, because in Peter’s delirious state he can see the faint shadow that belongs to Mr. Stark behind him at all times, throughout Happy and his planning.

“What am I supposed to do to get them in here?” Happy asks him, brows furrowing as they go over it again. He’s supporting him while the teenage vigilante thinks. “Kick something really loudly?”

“They’ll j’st think we’re beatin’ each ot’er up,” Peter’s words are still slurring. He knows the longer they wait the worse he’ll get and the more of a burden he’ll be on Happy. “What if I p’ll the light d’wn?”

“You think you can do that?” Happy whistles lowly. “That’ll work great, but you gotta be careful.” He doesn’t wait for Peter to respond, instead taking the liberty of going over the plan for him so he can save energy. “You’re gonna drop the chandelier and cling to the ceiling while someone runs in and then knock them out?”

He nods. _This has to work,_ he thinks. “Hap?” He says instead.

“Yeah, kiddo?”

Happy sounds so much like Tony. He’s looking after him even though Peter’s the reason he’s in this predicament in the first place and he’s _so_ grateful. “You’d m’ke a good dad.” As soon as he says it he blushes heavily. “S’rry.”

The man laughs. “What, me fixing your wounds isn’t already a parental move?” He quietens, his face darkening. Peter can tell he’s thinking of May. “If I ever had kids, I’d hope they turned out like you.”

Peter blushes even harder. He throws his arms around Happy’s shoulders, pulling him in for an awkward hug. The only other time they’d hugged like this was after the funeral when Happy had seen him for the first time in five years and in the Netherlands in the dead centre of a tulip field. _We’ve been through a lot,_ he realises. _We make a good team._ Happy tightens his hold on him and laughs again.

“We’re g’nna see May,” Peter reassures them both. “You two are g’nna go on disg’sting dates.”

Happy takes a deep breath. “O-Okay. Let’s do this, then.”

_

Happy stands up wobbly. It’s probably been one or two days since he last ate or drank anything, but it’s bound to be worse on the kid then him; he’s not the one with a metabolism five times faster than normal. “Ready?” He offers a hand to Peter.

The kid stands up and promptly collapses into his own arms. His curls are matted with sweat and hardened with blood. The bags under his eyes are stained purple-black, not unlike the ones he’s seen on Tony’s face after long nights melting into mornings in the workshop. The spark in Peter’s eyes has completely disappeared, his mouth permanently carved into a wince, skin ten times more pale than usual. His shirt is ruined, soaked through. _No amount of washing is going to get that colour out,_ he contemplates.

“You okay, Pete?” He asks, steading the boy. He nods and clenches his eyes shut for a few seconds before making his way to the wall. “Be careful, okay?”

Again, Peter nods. He kicks off his shoes and socks awkwardly and presses a bare hand to the wallpaper. Happy watches, astounded, as the injured teen slowly places hand after hand and foot after foot on the wall, climbing up. Peter sways dangerously for a moment, perspiration forming on his forehead. It’s a miracle he can even move right now, much less swing from the ceiling. He swings from the ceiling from the pads of his fingertips, etching closer and closer to the chandelier in the centre of the roof.

“Woah,” The boy mumbles as he steadies himself on the chain of the light. Heart in his throat, Happy cheers on.

Peter curls his hand into a fist and punches the chain as hard as he can. The chandelier rocks back and forth and he holds on for dear life, his eyes squeezed shut, massaging his bruised knuckles.

“Come on, Peter!” Harold whispers, holding his arms out in case Parker falls. “You’ve got this!”

The chain gives out after the spiderling punches it again, snapping cleanly in half. Peter jerks back and holds on to the roof as Happy races back as to not catch one hundred-odd crystals to the face. It shatters across the ground louder than he expected, glass and fake candles smothering the floor. Almost immediately, there’s a shout from behind the door. It swings open without hesitation, both guards he figured were outside the barrier marching inside. A beige blur falls from the ceiling on cue, fists connecting with the taller guard’s face.

“You little-“ He yelps, reaching for the gun Happy can see at his side.

Happy dives for the man, hands pummelling his face as violently as he can muster. It’s not really much of a fight; the guy crumples as the older man brings his fists down on the back of his head. He snatches the gun from his hands and loads it, turning to the fight Peter’s got himself into.

Even after being shot, losing too much blood and not eating or drinking for two or three days, Peter is still a better fighter than the smaller guard. He doesn’t have his webshooters, but he still whirls around like a professional, hitting the man’s weaker spots. Happy knows better than to fire the gun – it would only alert any other people of their whereabouts.

“Let’s go, Parker.” He tucks the gun under one arm, pulse pounding loudly in his ears. Peter looks defeated, and so he wraps an arm around his waist and tugs him along.

“Happy –“ Peter begins, looking wildly around the hallway. He quietens. It’s deserted, no sign of the Stark drones he watched that dumbass Beck use in London.

A blonde woman rounds the corner, a white pass on a lanyard swinging from her neck. She screams at the sight of them, pulling out a sleek black phone and dialling furiously.

“Hey, lady!” Happy calls. “Where are we?” He holds the gun to her head, not intending to shoot.

“Don’t hurt me!” She shrieks, glancing back and forth between him and Peter. “Ohmygod, you escaped!”

“Where are we?” Happy repeats firmly.

“S-south Carolina,” She stutters out. The pass around her neck has a picture of her face and a sort of barcode underneath, along with her name.

“Thanks, Janice,” He says, flipping the gun and raising the end to knock her out. She scrambles up and continues dialling, speaking furiously into the phone.

“Activate protocol: No Exit,” She yells, “Spider-Man is on the loose, activate protocol – “

Peter kicks her in the face, breathing heavily. He stomps on the phone defiantly, visibly shaking. “She was with Beck.”

“Shit,” He cusses, grabbing onto the boy. He looks like he’s about to die any second. “We need to go – “

Peter freezes. He turns around, a cry escaping his throat. Behind them is a swarm of newly built drones, all painted green. “Oh no,” He cries. “Nonononono.”

From the skirting board up, the hallway fades into a white, stark landscape, completely barren. There’s nothing but Peter and him for miles.

“No!” Parker bellows, moving closer to Happy’s side as something rumbles in the distance. “Cl’se your eyes!”

A rumble echoes in his ears. Lights blaring, a silver sleek bullet train speeds towards to where they’re standing on the tracks. “Peter, holy shit! We gotta move!” The boy in question stays completely still, his eyes squeezed shut. “Pete!” He screams, but he still doesn’t move. Happy lets out a cry, pulling at his sleeve, but the train is almost upon them. Seeing no other option, he closes his own eyes.

The train rolls past him. The wheels don’t crush him to death, he doesn’t slide under the train and become mince meat on the tracks. _Oh my fucking god_ , he thinks _, this is what Peter’s had to go through._

“F’llow me, Hap,” The spiderling mumbles quietly, reaching for his hand. Happy keeps his eyes closed.

He stumbles over his own feet, clutching to Peter’s wrist like a lifeline. Roars and crashes fill the air, but Peter keeps moving, spurred on by a sudden burst of energy. He stops suddenly.

“Drone!” He explains. Happy opens his eyes to watch Peter slam his fist into mid-air. It collides with a metal object, grey smoke flying from where he hit. The drone crumbles to the ground, a hole forming in the illusion, the white background flaking into thousands of tiny blue particles. “Go!”

“Shit, shit!” Happy yells, pushing the boy through the gap and following him. From outside the simulation he can see the twenty-odd drones aimed at where they just were, noise and lights blaring obnoxiously from each one. “You can open your eyes now, Pete!”

Peter shakes his head furiously. _He’s using his Peter Tingle,_ Happy remembers suddenly. Parker’s outstretched hand finds a doorknob and he twists it harshly.

The kid opens his eyes. Spread out in front of them is what seems to be a board meeting, people stationed around a huge table, coffee cups and tuna sandwiches in every hand. A balding bloke with square glasses is standing at the head of the table, an object clasped firmly in his hand. In the background blueprints and plans are pinned to the walls. Infront of the wall stands Peter Parker.

He’s wearing the shirt the Peter beside him is wearing now, but it’s clean of blood. This Peter is grinning, hands shoved in pockets, no injury in sight. Behind him a brunette type furiously on two holographic desktops, her eyes flicking back and forth between the screens and the projector-like object in the centre of the table. Beside him, the real Peter lets out a strangled cry. Happy realises with a jolt they're using the illusion of Peter to give them what they want.

“EDITH,” Not-Peter is saying, “Switch control to William Ginter Riva.”

“No!” Happy finds himself shouting. Ten heads swivel to stare at him, all wearing expressions of shock and terror.

“How – you escaped? What?” The man with glasses – William Ginter Riva glares up at them, his mouth falling open.

“EDITH,” Real Peter tries, clinging to Happy’s shirt, “C’ncel! Cancel!”

“Stop! Stop, Parker, I’ll let you go!” William cries, abandoning his seat and racing towards them. Happy remembers his gun and loads it, aiming the weapon at the man’s face.

“EDITH, switch control to William –“ The illusion of Peter repeats.

“Cancel!” The teenager yells.

“Threat detected,” EDITH replies coolly. Happy’s heart sinks and he pulls the kid closer to him as the AI speaks. “Activating _Run For The Hills_ protocol. Self-destructing all EDITH-controlled weaponry in 1 minute.”

_

Peter can feel himself slipping away.

His heart’s beating far too fast for one, his hands clammy, chest on fire, his head thumping wildly at every movement and breath he takes. It hurts to speak now, and he’s fairly certain the drone-inflicted wound has re-opened again and if he loses any more blood the outcome isn’t going to be too good. Still, hobbles closer to EDITH.

“If she self-destructs the satellites will enter the atmosphere,” Tony explains from behind him. Peter sighs in relief; there’s no way he can fix this without Mr. Stark, real or not real. “If that happens it’s gonna be raining bombs.”

“Sh’t,” He mumbles back. Happy’s gun is trained on William, the rest of the team’s hands in the air. “Wh’t do we do?”

“Get EDITH,” Tony instructs him. Peter darts for the glasses clenched firmly in William’s hand.

“Get back!” William presses something on his watch but Peter summons what feels like the last of his strength and breaks it.

“G’ve it to me,” He wrenches EDITH out of the man’s hands. “Wh’t now, Mr. St’rk?”

“Kid?” Happy whispers uncertainly from behind him, his gun faltering. Tony swivels around to stare at his former employee, eyes watering.

“Mr St’rk?”

“Oh, yeah.” Tony crosses the room in two strides. “Repeat after me: Activate _Hands-Free_ protocol.”

“T’ny, you give stuff r’lly weird names,” Peter manages a shaky smile, repeating the words as the genius beside him chuckles.

“Activate use code PBP-2001-00032.” Tony instructs.

“EDITH, uh, use code,” Peter follows the letters Tony’s mouthing, “-00032.”

“Self-destruct cancelled. All exits blocked, all non-Stark technology powered down. Avengers notified, estimated arrival one hour.” EDITH’s voice seems happier at the disappearance of the fake Peter.

A wave of relief hits Peter so hard he quite literally topples over, slumping onto one of the now-abandoned chairs. Tony offers him a watery grin, tears tumbling down his face. “You’ve been through so much, kiddo. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

“Wh’t did you do?” Peter murmurs. _Please let this be real._

“Called some old friends,” Tony strokes Peter’s hair affectionately and pulls him in close, pressing a feather-light kiss to his forehead.

“Don’t go,” He says, bursting into tears. “St’y with me?”

“I’m sorry I ever left,” Tony replies. “You get some rest, son. You’re gonna be safe, now.”

And even in a building infested by his enemies, in Tony’s arms Peter feels just that. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Thanks, Dad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: chapter wont be till next week  
> me, a couple of hours later: fuck it
> 
> (update: edited)


	10. Chapter 10

Bucky’s on the phone to Sam when he gets the call.

“How far away are you?” He asks the newest Captain America, holding the phone up to his ear and pacing nervously in front of the muted television. Silent videos of Sam waving to the crowds at the fundraiser for citizens displaced after the Blip he’s hosting, vibranium shield strapped to his back.

Sam had dived right into the Captain America title after heavy training from Bucky, a few visits to Steve and quite a lot of late-night crying sessions, and he had flourished, taking it upon himself to establish shelters and support groups in every major city. The latest had been New York, and Sam had insisted on flying home. As much as he hated to admit it, Bucky was worried about him. He was utterly alone after the events of the Vanishing with Steve leaving and he really didn’t want to lose another person so soon.

“Half an hour, tops,” Sam promises him. The audio’s always scratchy when he’s flying.

“I’ll heat up dinner, then,” Barnes states, making a move toward the fridge. He’s interrupted by his cell vibrating. “Hang on.”

He puts Sam on speaker, still baffled by the technology of today even after living half a decade in it. 

“How do you switch lines – oh, wait, I’ve got it.”

“Congrats, caveman,” Sam teases. Bucky rolls his eyes and switches calls. “Hello?”

“Mr. Barnes, a jet is arriving for you in precisely ten minutes. Mr. Barton, Miss Maximoff, Mr. Banner and Ms. Parker are currently on board.” 

Bucky stops pacing immediately, sucking a deep breath in. “Who is this?”

“My name is Edith,” The woman on the other end informs him coolly, “I am an AI created by Tony Stark. The current owner of my systems is Peter Parker, who contacted you.”

_Peter,_ he thinks, racking his brain. There’s only one kid he can remember called Peter – the irritating, bubbly twelve, maybe fourteen-year-old bug-themed superhero that caught his overpowered arm at the airport. Bucky’s only met him a couple of times – in Berlin and on the battlefield where the boy had been jumping around like an incredibly annoying jack-in-the-box. Annoying or not, he reminds himself, he’s an Avenger nonetheless, and there aren’t too many of those anymore. They have to stick together.

“Okay,” He manages, abandoning all hopes of having dinner at a reasonable hour and reaches for his jacket on the hook in the hallway and his favourite gun propped up outside the door. He switches calls again. “Sam?”

“Buck, hey, there’s gonna be a slight change of –“

“Plans, yeah.” He stares up at the sky, listening for the distant rumble of plane jets.

“I’ll see you there,” Captain America says. Bucky shoves the magazine into his gun and hopes this punk hasn’t died yet.

_

“Hey Parker. Keep your eyes open.”

It’s the fifth time he’s had to tell the boy that in the past two minutes. It seems for every sentence of nonsense that spills out of Happy’s mouth, there are two attempts to keep the kid awake. “You’ll be better in no time,” He finds himself saying, “You can go swing around with your girl and – hey, Parker, you listening - and do nerd things with that chair guy.”

They’re in the same office room with only EDITH for company, trapped in the same building as the guys that have just tried numerous times to kill them. It makes sense, he supposes; EDITH locked the Mysterio guy’s team with them they couldn’t escape and Happy and Peter can be done with them all for good. Happy just would have preferred to be outside the building when she did.

“Eyes open, kid.” Peter looks startlingly like Tony in this moment: his curls wild and his big brown eyes shining from behind Tony’s trademark tinted shades. If he didn’t know any better he’d say that they were related.

“What was that earlier, kiddo?” He shakes his thoughts away, knowing if he thinks about his former employer too much, he’ll end up a sobbing mess. Harold nudges the semi-conscious teen with his foot.

“Mr. St’rk,” Peter groans in explanation, head lolling onto Happy’s shoulder. Six years ago he would have grimaced and slid the divider up, but now he can’t find it in himself to care.

He had tried to get Peter to eat something, but the kid had only thrown up the sandwiches abandoned on the table by Beck’s team into the wastepaper basket in the corner of the room. The only thing that did stay down in Parker’s system was water, but water isn’t nearly enough to keep him going. Happy suspects the little nutrients and blood loss have messed with his brain and made him hallucinate.

“He was here?” Happy goes with it. “Tony?”

“Mhm,” Peter nods. “G’ne now. Think f’rever.”

Happy’s heart clenches, his throat seizing up. “He’s been gone for a while, Pete.”

Peter shakes his head, eyes snapping open. It’s the most he’s seen the boy move for a while. “No, he was here b’fore. Was  real . S’ved me – us.”

The older man sighs deeply, his hand stroking the kid’s unruly hair. “Okay, Pete.” He watches the boy nod, accepting Happy’s belief and closing his eyes. “Hey, no sleeping.”

The kid stays asleep, body limp. “Nononono,” Happy yells, his fingertips pressing on Peter’s neck in search of a pulse. It’s faint, slowing down as every second passes. “Shit!”

“Stay with me, Parker!” He screams frantically, scooping the teen up in his own arms, ignoring the exhaustion that immediately washes over him. In the panic of keeping the boy alive he had forgotten it had been days since the bodyguard had eaten, too. Happy’s knees buckle and the pair fall back on the ground with a resounding thud. “Damnit!”

His head snaps up when he hears the door handle wriggling up and down furiously, shaking the door frame. Harold reaches for his gun, pushing Peter’s unconscious body behind him protectively and loading the weapon, heart speeding up.  _I did not survive this far to get killed now._

There’s a loud grunt from the other side of the wall. The door goes flying with a bang into the wide window framed by ugly yellow curtains on the other side of the room. It shatters, glass spewing all over the meeting room. Harold’s hand tightens on the trigger.  Please don’t be them, please don’t be that William guy –

“Happy?”

_

May’s been a nurse for almost a decade now, and she’s seen her fair share of gory and horrible sights in her spare time. She considers herself to have a pretty iron stomach, after all, May’s seen broken bones breaking through skin, infected, green-coloured stab wounds, crushed skulls, but as soon as she rounds the corner and darts through the door Mr. Barnes just kicked open, she throws up.

Peter, her only nephew, the boy she raised, who’s her own son in everything but blood lies propped up half on her boyfriend half on the wall. His eyes are closed, tear streaks cutting through the grime and blood on his face. His black eyebags are a stark contrast against his too-pale skin. There’s red all over him, his hands, his neck, coating his fringe and drenching his shirt. It’s been three whole days since he and Happy disappeared from their plane, three whole days Peter’s been without medical treatment.

“Is he dead?” James, the strong, quiet man she met on the plane asks, moving his gun to his flesh hand and crossing the room in two strides.

She had been in the lake house with Pepper and Morgan when the plane arrived. All she heard from their tech-butler-lady in the ceiling was ‘Peter’s been located’, and she took off running. Stark had outdone himself: the plane took half the amount of time to get to her son than a normal jet would.

“Who are you?” She’d asked as a tall, dark-haired man boarded the Stark Industries jet that had just landed in a park across from a suburban neighbourhood.

“James Barnes, ma’am,” He had shaken her hand, nodding to Clint and Wanda behind her and the green man – Hulk, or Bruce.

Bruce had stayed behind with Wanda to prepare medical supplies. 

“Miss Parker, you should stay with us,” He had said. “Bucky will handle it.” He didn’t press further, however, as she glared with what Peter would say as ‘with the power of a thousand fiery suns’.

“Are you an Avenger?” May had questioned bluntly, stepping off the plane and trailing after the taller man, eyeing his gun.

James had hesitated and shaken his head. “No, ma’am. But I am going to get you your son back.”

He had seemed so decisive, determined to finish this mission with everyone coming out alive.  Are you sure about that?  She thinks now, staring at the sight in front of her with queasy eyes.

“You need to get him to safety,” Happy groans, bringing her out of her thoughts. “May?” 

If she opens her mouth, May thinks she’ll vomit. She nods and strides across the room, dropping to her knees in front of them. 

“You can’t be here, they’ve got weapons - they’re from London,” Her boyfriend’s eyes widen. He drops the gun at his side and stares, his eyes darting between her and James. 

“I’m gonna get him to safety.” James Barnes ignores Happy’s request and carefully sweeps Peter up in his arms, wincing in sympathy whenever he moves the boy too harshly. “Can you walk?” 

“Yeah,” Happy attempts to stand up to demonstrate only for his legs to wobble dangerously and force him back on the floor. “I’m fine.” 

“Stupid self-sacrificing blokes,” Bucky rolls his eyes, “Thought Steve was the only one.” 

“You should see Peter in action - “ May tries to joke. She’s interrupted by a harsh bang from out in the hallway. 

Immediately, James and Happy stiffen. Both men’s hands move to their respective guns. The younger-looking man tosses something at her and she catches it - just, in her fingertips. It’s a phone, unlocked with a contact up on the screen. 

“Bruce - Hulk. Call him,” James tells her, gently placing Peter on the table and marching out with his gun. “These punks aren’t going anywhere,” He yells back at him, addressing the Quentin guy’s team, still locked behind the doors of the hotel. 

May knows she can’t lift Peter. She could probably support him, but her son’s unconscious and that’s out of the question. She really doesn’t want to spend anymore time waiting around, but there’s nothing she can do without supplies.

“Hello?” Bruce says on the other end. “What’s wrong?” 

Down the hall May can hear a bang, followed by a high-pitched scream. There’s the sound of multiple pairs of footsteps and then gunshots ringing out against the wallpapered. walls. “Could - can we get backup?”

-

“May, I’m sorry,” Happy tells her, waving Bruce fussing about his shoulder away. He fiddles with the IV on his hand like he wants to rip it out and through it across the room. “I’m sorry.”

The Wanda girl had flown through the window in the meeting room with a burst of red magic and followed James out the door. “Banner is coming,” She had said. Later, May would learn she had kept all the doors closed with her red stuff, her weird energy thing. Banner had collected Peter in one arm and Happy in the other and marched back down the hallway, shielding May from the other Avenger’s attempts to keep the bad man imprisoned. 

She marches across the plane floor, past the makeshift medical bay. “What for?” 

“I didn’t keep him safe,” Harold leans his head on her shoulder. “That’s my job.”

“And you did it,” May takes a deep breath, “He’s - he’s not de-gone. You kept him alive.” 

Happy’s eyes widen. He abandons fiddling with his IV and wraps both arms, bandaged and fine around her and pulls her in close as he realises what she’s thinking. “Peter’s not gonna die, May.” 

“I know,” She whispers into his neck, not believing her own words. Hot tears prick the back of her eyes and she blinks them back furiously. 

“Hey,” Her boyfriend says firmly. “Peter is not dying. Not today, not ever. That kid’s not legally allowed to die, ever.” 

She snorts and he laughs, tugging her in closer.“I don’t think anyone up there would let him,” Happy mumbles uncertainly, as if he’s worried he’ll offend her. 

May smiles, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “He’s got a few guardian angels, hasn’t he?” 

Happy mumbles a response. It’s then she realises how tired he must be, how little sleep he’s probably gotten over the past 72 hours. “Go to sleep, Hap,” She lets his head drop on her shoulder. His exhausted eyes close, and May thinks of how even in the train wreck of her life, how lucky she is. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok sorry for taking so long hopefully this isn’t bad it’s very slow i’m sorry have a good day


	11. Chapter 11

Peter doesn’t dream.

For the first time since he got back from being Bipped, he doesn’t wake up in a panic, beads of sweat mingled with fresh tears clinging to his face, a scream lodged in his throat. He doesn’t wake up at all, not disturbed by a single nightmare or dream, no visions of Tony or adorable puppies. It’s so utterly peaceful. For one whole moment he’s a boy again, young and impressionable, nine-year-old Peter behind an Iron Man mask. He drifts in the abyss of sleep for hours.

His first thought is _don’t wake up_ , but the second a comprehendible message reaches his brain his body is pulled away from rest and his eyelids peeled open by gentle rays of sunlight. Peter frowns.

A series of drip machines to his left are the first things he sees. Translucent liquids pour into the crook of his elbow, back of his hand, below his collarbone. Through the transparent bags are what he can make out as hazy movie posters, Alien, Avatar, a plethora of limited collector’s edition Star Wars ones that definitely aren’t plastered to the walls of his Queens apartment walls, or the new bedroom in Tony’s – the Stark’s cabin.

“Tower?” He thinks aloud, twisting his head to the right to expand his vision. A spike of pain travels up his spine and he lets out a hiss.

His guess is correct: the bedside table next to him is expensive and sleek, the full-length curtained windows too spectacular to be anywhere else but the Avengers Tower. Unconsciously, he relaxes, only to bristle as his eyes catch the figure asleep in the armchair in the corner.

 _Where are my webshooters? How’s am I supposed to fight with half a hospital attached to one arm?_ He thinks, scrambling up frantically and pulling on the IVs. _Get off get off-_

“Parker, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Eyes wide, Peter glances up from his arm to stare at the person in the armchair. “MJ?”

“Yeah, dork.”

MJ pushes herself up from the chair and brushes her curls out of her eyes, shuffling over to his bedside. She hovers awkwardly, staring at him with unblinking eyes framed by prominent eyebags.

“You’re real?” Peter wonders. Stark Tower, his girlfriend all in one piece – it could very possibly be an illusion again. _Wait, where’s Beck’s team? Oh god, they got EDITH, where’s Happy? They’ve got EDITH I have to stop them._ Beside him, a piece of machinery attached to his forefinger beeps alarmingly.

“You better hurry up and get better or I’m kicking you off the AcaDec team,” MJ’s grin wobbles. Peter relaxes back into the pillows. It’s his Michelle.

Still, he wants answers. “Happy? May, EDITH?”

MJ shifts back and forth on the balls of her feet as if deciding whether she should sit down or not. Confusion isn’t a look he’s seen a lot on her, and so he takes charge and grabs her hand. Hesitantly, she swings her legs onto the expensive mattress and intertwines her fingers with his. “May and Happy, that guy from London, right? They’re fine. Your Aunt’s been sleeping in the room next to you. She’s probably got a whole baby monitoring setup going on,” She jokes.

Peter exhales. “What about you and Ned?”

“I don’t really know who Edith is. You better not have gotten another girl, Parker.”

“MJ,” He squeezes her hand, glancing up at her, “You and Ned, are - are you okay?”

There’s a pregnant pause. Michelle’s eyes close and when she opens them they’re covered with a thin layer of water.

“You were gone for three days,” She whispers. “You just disappeared. I thought – I didn’t know what to think.” MJ shakes her head. “I can’t – Ned and I can’t go to school; the reporters are everywhere. Everyone I know has been calling me, asking if you’re alive, and I don’t know, I don’t know _anything_. And then May – well, Pepper – calls and says you’ve been found.” She stops, swallowing hard.

“MJ,” Peter tries, but she shushes him and continues.

“I get here, and nobody tells me _anything_. I didn’t know if you had died, I didn’t know anything that happened to you when you were gone. I had to wait another three goddamn days for someone to tell me what had happened to my own fucking boyfriend. This is the first time I’ve been able to actually see you since Pepper’s.”

It’s only then he realises the state his body is in. Whatever drugs they’ve hooked him up to has begun to wear off; there’s a throbbing, aching pain across his stomach. His right arm is completely bandaged from the elbow to his fingertips. White gauze pokes out from underneath his blue and white hospital gown. Tubes and cords stretch underneath the material into his chest.

“Oh, god,” He shuffles closer to her, ignoring the pain blossoming in his abdomen, “I’m so sorry.” They fit together like a puzzle. He wonders when they became so close – they had gone from standing awkwardly next to each other, dissolving into giggles whenever their shoulders touched to attaching together at the hip, hands permanently woven together, hearts fluttering anxiously whenever the television turned on in a manner of weeks. “I thought about you – you and Ned heaps when I was kid – uh, away.”

Michelle curls her arm under his shoulders gently and pulls him closer. “I followed every goddamn news page to make sure I was up to date, even the Daily Bugle. The Daily Bugle, the newspaper whose foundations sit on lies.” She shakes her head, giggling, pulling him closer. “I’m just – happy you’re alive, dork.”

Peter lets out a chuckle. “There’s my MJ.”

“What, am I an object?” She retorts playfully, laughing at his reddening face.

“No – that’s not – sorry, you’re not – “  


“I’m messing with you, Parker,” Michelle grins, combing her fingers through his hair and standing up suddenly. She glances at the door as if she’s the one with super hearing and not him. “I think there’s some other people waiting to see you.”

He watches the door close with a heavy heart. _Stay_ , he wants to say, but the door flies open and May storms in

_

“When this is all blown over,” Pepper’s hair blows around wildly, strawberry-blonde streaks tinged with the beginnings of grey whipping around her face, “Would you move in with us?”

“To the lake house?” May’s eyebrows scrunch together.

“That or the tower,” Mrs. Stark gestures to the skyscraper’s balcony, her wedding band glinting in the dimming sky, “We still own it. Tony was going to, of course, but then the whole Vulture thing happened, and the Blip and – and he never really got around to it. Too many memories to get rid of, I guess.”

May thinks of the billions of Friday nights fifteen-year-old Peter had spent at the Stark tower, the Friday nights that had morphed into sleepovers and then weekend stays, holiday stays while she worked extra shifts in her dream job. “I think Peter already did,” She jokes.

Pepper laughs. “Really, though. Would you consider it? It’s…safer. I don’t expect this to settle down quickly. The Avengers are working their rings off to make sure Beck’s group don’t leave their holding cells, but they all still have to go to trial. Peter’ll have to give a statement, and there’s the matter of the new Accords he still has to sign. After his recovery, of course.” She takes a deep breath. “I have a feeling that – the recovery – might be the hardest part.”

May nods blankly. “What about Morgan? Your other house? You have a life there, we can’t expect you to drop it and run.”

The older woman’s smile deepens. “I love the house. There’s so much of Tony there, but he’s here, too. Morgan and I could go back on the weekends or something.” “Why not come up on the weekends?”

“Too far away from Peter’s school,” Pepper states. May’s jaw unhinges and swivels her eyes from where she’s looking at the people dwindling on the pathway below to stare at Mrs. Stark.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” She says flatly, unable to comprehend someone as selfless as Pepper.

She opens her mouth to respond and launch into another eloquent spiel, but the glass doors behind them open.

“Ma’am,” FRIDAY greets them, her Irish voice descending from the ceiling. Pepper jerks back; she had forgotten FRIDAY was installed in the Avengers tower before it was in her cabin. “Peter’s awake.”

May’s jaw snaps shut. She tucks her brown locks behind her ears and pushes her glasses further up her nose, staring determinedly up at Pepper. “You coming?”

“You want me to?” It’s Pepper’s turn to sound confused. She lingers behind on the balcony, hand dropping from the railing.

“’Course,” May tells her, snatching her hand up and squeezing it tightly. She grins. “I have a feeling you’re pretty good at dealing with self-sacrificing imbeciles.”

Pepper laughs in light of the situation and smiles back, leading the way to Peter’s room, her heels click-clacking on the hard floor. May can’t help thinking how good the woman would be of a best friend.

_

“You okay, kiddo?” Aunt May smiles down at him, loading yoghurt onto a spoon. She’s sitting on the end of his queen-sized bed, (Tony never knew what small meant. “Go big or go home,” He’d said once.) Pepper in the armchair MJ was asleep on previously.

“Fine,” Peter shuffles around on the bed a little, edging closer to his aunt so his leg is touching her. He had missed her so much in the past three days – three plus however many days he was out. He was utterly terrified for her safety, and now he never wants to let go again. _You’re sixteen_ , he reminds himself painfully, _you’re almost an adult – you should be 21. Twenty-one year olds aren’t attached by the hip to their guardians._

As if she has a Peter-Tingle of her own just for sensing his discomfort, May stands up and sits back down closer, running her hands through his hair. She presses a kiss to his forehead. “The FRIDAY lady says you’ll be fully recovered by tomorrow morning.”

Pepper smiles encouragingly from the armchair. “You’ll be swinging around Queens in no time.”

Seeing MJ had distracted him from all thoughts of Spider-Man, but with Pepper’s reminder all his queries flood back in. “What happened – William? EDITH? Happy – can I see him?”

“Harold’s fine,” May assures him, pulling her fingers through a knot in his curls. She looks over expectantly at Pepper, obviously unsure of the rest of the answers.

“William, with the rest of his cronies is under supervision by none other than Bucky, awaiting trial. They’re going straight to jail – my lawyers have their pens poised, literally waiting my hand.” She smiles supportively.

“What happened?” Peter asks again.

“You passed out – blood loss. Bruce – Hulk carried you to the jet. You gave us a bit of a scare, Peter.” She stands up and smooths out her pencil skirt. “I called in a favour from a doctor who flew back to South Korea last night and she patched you up pretty good. She’s worked with enhanced individual before.”

“O-oh,” He stammers out. “Thankyou so much. I’m sorry – I’m sorry you had to do all that.”

“Aha!” May grins, thumping his skull playfully, “What did I say? You’re cleaning the toilet for a year!”

“May!” Peter laughs, stretching out the ‘a’.

Down the hall a pitter-patter of tiny feet followed by louder ones sharpens his senses. “Who’s that?” He voices aloud, eyebrows scrunching together. “Morgan?”

“And the babysitter,” Pepper’s face breaks out into the biggest smile.

On cue, the door opens and in steps a two familiar faces. Peter’s heart explodes in pure happiness at the sight, sitting up further, an elated twinkle appearing in his eyes.

“Duuuuuude, ohmygod,” His best friend, Ned Leeds grins, a child in his arms, “I just babysat Morgan Stark.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaahhh ive got like two weeks before I go on holiday for 6 weeks so im tryna get all the chapters out asap. hopefully this wasn't too bad I like never edit whoops. thank you all again for reading and commenting! I really really love reading all the comments thankyou to everyone who writes one. :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fanfic has 10k reads thank you allll

“When are you going out as Spider-Man again, man? Queens misses you.” Ned picks up the abandoned webshooters lying on his bedside table. A thick outline of dust is left behind; Peter hasn’t touched those since 2016. They’re half-built, the ones he used to work on Lab Fridays with Tony, adding ideas Mr. Stark would bounce off him. He’ll probably never finish them now.

“I dunno, Ned.” He ignores the doctor’s warnings and hoists himself out of bed for the first time since he’s arrived at the Tower. Ned, the angel that he is darts across the room, spluttering, offering an arm.

“Peter! You – are you even allowed to be out of bed?”

He shrugs, smirking. “I’ve been sitting in a bed for what, three, four days? If I sit any longer, I’m going to become the bed.”

Ned laughs. He lets go of Peter’s arm and pulls a shiny DVD out of his backpack, still in its plastic wrapper. “You got annihilated, man, you really should be in bed. Star Wars?”

Before the spiderling can reply, his bedroom door creaks open again. May and one of the doctors Pepper’s hired fly in.

“Hey, Ned,” May greets his best friend with a hug. “How’ve you been, sweetie?”

“Mr. Parker, you should be resting,” The doctor nods his way, placing her clipboard on his desk.

He sighs. “Ned, could we do Star Wars later? I’m sorry, man.”

“It’s fine,” Ned holds his hand out for their secret handshake. Peter grins, complying. The other boy shoves _Star Wars: Rise Of The Skywalker_ into his bag, waves respectfully to May and leaves.

“Kids,” The woman shakes her head, smiling.

“Is – sorry, ma’am, do I have to do this?” He questions politely.

The doctor snorts, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. “It’s preferred you do, yes. We have to check all your blood regenerated. You lost a lot, Mr. Parker.”

May crawls closer to him, tugging his pale hand into hers. “It’s alright, Ms,” She squints at the older woman’s nametag, “Rigby. I’m a nurse. NYC Health.”

Peter watches the woman disappear through his bedroom door and looks up at his aunt, grinning. “Thanks for rescuing me, May.”

“Oh, you’re not getting out that easily, kiddo.” She launches herself at him, avoiding his almost fully healed wound. He giggles as she tickles him as though he was six again.

“May! Stop! I thought – I’m wounded, remember?” He manages to get out through wheezes, laughing hysterically.

“Oh, so now he admits it? Typical,” May jokes. She backs off though, her smile slipping slightly.

Peter frowns. It’s not like May to suddenly switch off laughter. “What’s wrong?”

May twists her hands back and forth, wringing them out in her lap. She watches the white coat wearing doctor disappear through Peter’s bedroom door and looks up at him, smiling hesitantly. “Pepper and I had a chat last night.”

“Oh?” He moves closer to her, dropping his head and letting May run her hands through his hair.

“She…she recommended we move in with her.”

Peter lifts his head from her chest, confusion etched onto his face. “Here or the lake house? What’s wrong with our apartment? What about your job?”   


“Slow down, Pete,” The corners of her mouth turn up. “I didn’t say anything. I – I like our home. It’s never been in my plans to move house. But,” She draws intake of breath, “It wasn’t in my plans for your Uncle to – to pass, either, for half the world to get Blipped or for this to happen to you – to us. These things happen though, honey, and we just have to work around them.” “This whole thing isn’t gonna just disappear, y’know?” She traces patterns on his skull, depositing a small kiss at his hairline. “We’re gonna have to change a lot of things, and that’s okay. Our apartment, as much as I love it dearly, It’s public information now and I gotta look after my favourite boy.”

“I’m your only boy,” He whispers, voice feather-light, head ducking into his chest. _I don’t want more change,_ he wants to stay. Instead of smiling in reply, May’s fingers lift his chin up.

“Hey. You’re not alone, kiddie. I love you.”

“I love you too, May.” May grins a contagious grin, and Peter finds himself smiling back, fuelled with a new energy. “Now, revenge.” He dives on her, aiming for her sides where he knows she’s most ticklish.

“Peter!” She dissolves in laughter, fighting back, a mixture of shrill shrieks and pure amusement filling the air and wiping all serious thoughts away. 

_

It’s moments like now where Bucky wants nobody but Steve. Sam’s trying his best, but Steve left behind a super-soldier-sized cavity in Bucky’s life and Wilson doesn’t quite fit. Nobody knew him as well as Stevie did. He was the only one left from his childhood, the 1920s he was forced to leave behind.

Steve would know how to handle this situation. He’d have all the tech-obsessed, power-hungry dumbasses wiped in in 0.3 seconds with time left to flick up his shield with his foot and send Bucky a cocky grin from hallway across the room. Steve would have completed rescue mission perfectly, no injuries, no shots fired –

 _Steve’s gone_ , a small part of his brain jeers, _he left you, remember?_

“-Bucky? I said, are you alright?”

He jerks back to earth, head slamming into the wall behind him, all thoughts of Rogers left behind on the indent his skull leaves. To his left, Sam chuckles. “Dipshit.”

“I’m fine,” He mutters, stifling a laugh and rubbing his head tentatively.

Wilson sobers. “Steve?” He asks, shifting closer. When Bucky nods, the corners of Sam’s mouth downturn. He says nothing but skids the patriotic metal frisbee across the wooden floor and swears at it loudly. Steve’s – Sam’s shield crashes into the half-inch thick glass that separates the people that terrorised Parker from them. William flinches on the other side. Bucky finds himself laughing. He snorts, eyes crinkling as his whole face breaks into a rare smile. Sam beams.

“James,” The door flies open,” Samuel.”

As if he’s a schoolboy caught in the act, he drops his loaded automatic and shoves his metal arm into his pocket awkwardly. The newly appointed director of the raft and fresh S.H.I.E.L.D member, Amy Blake smirks down at them sitting cross legged on the floor.

“Boys,” Amy says, hand-on-hip, tugging at her quarter of a million-dollar blazer and smoothing out her matching pencil skirt, “You can go. They’re not gonna escape. This is the Raft.”

“We did,” Sam supplies helpfully. Amy, alongside Bucky, sighs defeatedly, resting her forehead on the steel doorframe.

“Boys,” She repeats tiredly, “They’re scrawny middle-aged _normal_ men without weapons. They’re not going anywhere.”

“They fucked up, though.” Sam beats Bucky to it, shrugging his shoulders and crossing his arms maturely, “They hurt a fri- an Avenger, and they gotta pay.”

“What are you, five?” All heads swivel towards the doorway. Amy jumps out of the frame, practically leaping to the side. “Like Ms. Blake said, boys, you can go. In fact, I insist.”

In steps Nicholas Fury.

_

“Who even is that?”

Ned launches popcorn into his mouth, face scrunching up as a new character slides onto the screen. The newest Star Wars movie they both missed the premiere of is on the television, but neither of them particularly care; Peter finds there’s no fun in watching something that reminds him of the years he missed. Instead of watching it with wide-eyes, completely engrossed, they pair of best friends are sitting side-by-side, catching each other up on everything.

“I’ve got no clue,” The corners of Peter’s mouth turn up.

His phone vibrates loudly, face-down on his bedside table. Peter picks it up absent-mindedly, not in the mood to talk to anyone right now.

“Who’s that?” Ned asks, pausing the movie. “MJ?”

“Uh,” Peter stutters, glancing at the number he’d deliberately blocked: _Mr. Fury_. _Of course_ , he thinks. _Perfect timing_.

“Ned,” He starts, racking his brains for an excuse, but Ned’s phone beeps and the other boy scrambles up, fishing it out of his pocket.

“It’s my mom,” He explains, sending Peter an apologetic look, “I gotta go; she’s outside.” “It’s…that’s fine,” The spiderling says. _That’s not a coincidence_. “Thanks for coming, bro.”

“Anytime,” Ned grins, scurrying out of the room and shutting the door behind him. Peter waits until he can hear him humming in the elevator before he hits accept.

“Hello Mr. Fury, now is not really a great time – “

“Parker, do not block me again.”

Peter sighs, flopping against his pillows. “Sir, with all due respect, I don’t – I don’t really want to speak to anybody right now. Is it urgent?”

“That depends,” His bedroom door flies open. Fury hangs up, his eyebrow raised. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Parker.” “Meet me?” Peter flies up out of bed, His face screws together. “Sir, you – Europe? Beck? Do you not remember?”

Nick Fury hesitates. He strides over to Peter’s bedside, pulling the dramatic cape back to shove his hands in his pockets. Twin pistols sit in his holster and the spiderling feels himself flinching at the sight of them.

“I have some explaining to do,” Fury mutters. As he strides across the room, his trademark clothes part to reveal the twin pistol sitting smugly in his holster. A shiver runs down Peter’s spin and he glances down to find his arm instinctively rubbing the wound on his chest.

“You said that before, too. Jeez, I’m getting déjà vu – I this a S.H.I.E.L.D thing? Are you confusing me to make me forget something like in Men In Black? Wait, did you get memory-wiped? Is S.H.I.E.L.D Men In Black – “

Nick holds up a hand, his eyebrow still raised. He rolls his eye and inhales deeply, pinching his nose and somehow managing to look like a grandparent. “Parker. Shut it. The adult is talking, got it?”

_This is where you zip it, alright? The adult is talking._

Peter nods furiously, head bobbling up and down like the bobble-heads on people’s dashboards, Under the covers he pinches himself hard to stop the stinging that appeared in the back of his eyes at the reminder of the Ferry from becoming tears.

Fury’s face softens ever so slightly. “Look, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t put apologies on my resume.”

“Apologies?” He interjects, but Nick shoots him a look deadlier than the bullets from his pistols and he quietens.

“It wasn’t be in Europe, Mr. Parker,” The director starts. “For the past couple of months – since the Snap that brought you and I back, in fact, I haven’t been on Earth.” He waits for the sentence to sink in. Peter frowns, remembering his constant conversations with the man. Fury continues.

“S.H.I.E.L.D was in pieces before the Decimation, and when we came back, there was hardly anything left. Enough to rebuild something, sure, but not enough to repair what we had. And so, I left for space, and for a while I focused on rebuilding an agency, harbouring all the information I could to inform myself of everything I’d missed out in those past couple of years. When Quentin Beck – “ Peter’s gaze drops to his hands – “came along with the Elementals, I sent a shape-shifting dickhead called Talos to deal with the problem, rather than actually doing it myself. And it – it created a bit of a mess.”   


“What?” Peter breathes, looking up so fast his neck cracks. “You – what? Shapeshifter?”

Fury sits down in the chair, massaging his forehead and not looking apologetic in the slightest. “That is what I said, yes. We good?”

“No – no,” He mumbles, ripping the sheets off the bed and flying up, his good hand lying protectively on his still-bandaged chest.

“You got a question on your mind? Ask your teachers, kid – “

“I’ve never met you before?” He interrupts, ignoring the last part of Fury’s sentence.

“You have now,” Nick shrugs.

“How – how do I know you’re not the alien guy? Talos?”

“I sent him back,” He jerks his head to the ceiling. When Peter doesn’t respond, he sighs deeply. “Ask Danvers if I’m lying: I can’t eat a sandwich if it’s not cut in triangles.”

In any other situation, Peter would be dying of laughter and whip out his phone to text Ned, but instead he tries to keep his voice from shaking and tears from falling. “The glasses – you or Tony?”

“Stark.”

“So, let me get this straight,” He summarises, “You sent an alien to make me deal with a maniac who ruined my school trip and almost killed my friends and family?”

“That – uh – “

“And didn’t send help or – or tell me until after I’d done it _again_?”

“Do you know how much I went through?” Peter grasps at his hair, marching over to the windows on the opposite side of the room to Fury. _It’s too much,_ he wants to say, but you can’t exactly shoo the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D from your room.

“I said I’m sorry, what do you want, a handwritten note?” He can hear the older man get out of the chair and kick it maturely. “I came here to get you up to date, not to offer you tissues.”   


The spiderling buries his hands in his pockets to stop them from shaking. He turns around, wishing more than anything he could throw a punch right now. “I’m all up to date, now. You can – you can go.” _Fury skipped the pleasantries, so will I._

Nick practically deflates. His hand snakes into his jacket and he produces a thick manila envelope. “I’ll make you a deal: you sign, and I’ll leave.”

“Sign what?” Peter asks.

Fury slides his thumb under the tab and rips through the yellow paper, pulling out a series of important-looking papers. “No plane ride this time, Parker.” He thrusts them under the boy’s nose, the title clouding before his eyes.

Peter grabs the papers and almost drops them. “The Accords?”

“Second last page,” Fury turns the papers over wildly and jabs at the selected one. This time, Peter does really drop the documents.

Fluttering to the floor is possibly this decade’s most controversial topic, the one that completely divided social media platforms and Peter’s freshman year. Nick Fury crouches down to retrieve the freaking Accords strewn all over his bedroom floor. “I said sign them, not throw them, Spider-Man.”

“What? Now?” He thought he would have had to fly out to the White House again to sign the newly revised documents, but apparently not. “How do you even have these?” “I’m Nick Fury. I do what I want, when I want. You want a clicky pen, Parker? Red? Blue?”

The instrument in question is thrust into his open palm. Shakily, Peter uncaps it, moving his gaze down the page to a free space. The Avenger’s signatures all blur together – Natalia Alianovna Romanoff, Robert Bruce Banner, Thor Odinson, Clinton Francis Barton, Wanda Maximoff, Steven Strange, Carol Danvers, Scott Lang, Steve Rogers. There are Avengers old and new, some not even official Avengers. Peter supposes during and after the Blip the Accords went through some very heavy editing.

He makes it to the end of the page and poises the pen to sign. Directly above the open space is the swirling, familiar cursive of Anthony Edward Stark, next to a passive-aggressive smiley-face clearly drawn by the owner of the signature.

“Parker, I’m a busy man,” Fury groans. “Hurry up.”

With tears brewing in his eyes, he places the pen to the page and signs as close to Tony’s as possible, trying to picture Iron Man writing on this same paper so many years ago. Peter misses his handwriting, the sometimes neat and sometimes messy scrawl all over Tony’s many labs, the libraries of notes and formulas that gather dust, locked away somewhere safe. Seeing his mentor’s signature seems to only reassure him that this is the right decision, that Tony would be happy to let Peter do this, and he signs away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dunno if there will be another chapter for a while. i have no clue if i can get one out this week or while im away, so if there isn't an update for a while im sorry. thanks for reading and please comment!! i love reading them all. :)


	13. Chapter 13

“He _what?”_

Peter’s been allowed to venture out of his room finally, without any of the machinery attached to him. He’s gone from lounging in one room to another, however - May ushered him into the lounge room and onto a couch as soon as he set foot outside his bedroom.

“May, calm down -“

“Oh, no, she’s got a perfectly good reason to be worked up right now,” Pepper raises a perfectly manicured eyebrow, arms folded across her chest. May huffs dramatically, rage etched into her face.

Fury, even though he was a super-spy and the once-head of a massive secret intelligence organisation, was rattled out by FRIDAY and cornered by Pepper. What Peter would have payed to see that, but he had locked himself in his room, waiting for sleep to take him. Now May had caught wind of the situation and was ranting furiously.

“This dickhead,” She cries, “Sent you to fight a - didn’t even send himself - an _alien!_ ”

“May,” He tries, “

“I’m angry too!” Peter groans, getting to his feet. May shuts up, turning to face him. “I’m - he lied to me, hurt me - I’m - I don’t like him, I don’t want anything to do with him. But he apologised, and I’m gonna move on. You should too.”

“Okay,” May holds him, “What did he say?”

“He brought the Accords, I signed it -“

That’s enough to get May fired up again. Her eyes snap up and she looks to Pepper for her opinion. “What?”

“He brought the Accords?” Pepper stands up. “FRIDAY, is that even allowed?”

“Quoting Nicholas Fury,” Comes the swift reply, “I’m Nick Fury, I do what I want, when I want.”

“Sounds like him,” Pepper mumbles. “Still, you signed it? That’s...actually helpful. The sooner the Accords were signed the sooner you can go home.”

“Home?” Peter echoes, still stuck in his aunt’s embrace. “To Queens?”

Nobody speaks. May’s mouth open and shuts like a goldfish but she says nothing. “Because - uh - I’ve been wondering if it’s,” He takes a deep breath and tries again. “I want you to be safe. You and - and Happy. And Pepper, Morgan, Ned and MJ, that’s all I want. And I, uh, don’t know if the apartment’s gonna keep you safe.”

May relaxes instantly, hands burrowing in his hair. “You’re so good. Such a good kid.”

“The offer to stay here’s still open,” Pepper smiles from ear to ear, hands fluttering around a pencil. “Morgan’s been missing her big brother.”

He doesn’t even think it through. He looks up at May’s grin and back at Pepper, nodding furiously.

_

The ride to Queens is quiet. It’s like old times: Happy sits in the front seat, (although the divider is down) Peter in the back. May’s in the passenger against the driver’s will; Happy thought it would be safer for her at home. May simply climbed in the car – “Harold, I’m not missing a chance to bid my home goodbye,” she had said, glaring childishly at him through the car window.

“You ready?” She says now, her hand on Happy’s as they pull into their street. Kids play on the sidewalks, Tommy from two floors up and Annabelle from the apartment block next to theirs.

“Yeah,” He replies. The windows are tinted so dark he’s not even sure he could see in, but regardless, he hides away from sight, hoping nobody recognises him. Happy parks the car – the least expensive Mr. Stark owned – and offers him a wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses.

“Wear them, trust me,” He says, slamming his door closed. “They work.”

He offers May a straw-hat Peter guesses belongs to Pepper and marches them inside, checking every doorway. “I’m going up first.”

May rolls her eyes. “He’s a tad protective, isn’t he?”

“Bit like a possessive dog,” Peter tells her. May lets out a laugh. “But you love him,” He adds without thinking. As soon as the words escape his mouth his eyes widen. “I didn’t – oops – uh – “

“I do,” His aunt smiles, ignoring his stuttered apology and ushering him up the stairs. “But just secretly, I larb you more.”

“Larb you too!” He yells. He gets to the top of the staircase and can’t move any further. Nothing’s blocking him mentally, there’s no wave of sadness like he predicted. Peter just genuinely can’t move, because the ground in front of him is completely covered.

Hundreds - _no, thousands,_ he corrects himself - of cars smother the floor from the top of his stairs to the Parker’s front door. Envelopes are wedged underneath the doorway so tightly he can’t see under it. Bouquets, roses and daisies pile high, Spider-Man clothing and merchandise stuck on the walls and stretched out on top of cards. Peter’s so entranced by the plethora of gifts he almost misses the mural behind the door.

He weaves in and out of ankle-deep mess, etching closer to the painting. Hundreds of pieces of paper are stuck to the wall. _Good,_ he thinks, _May would have killed someone if it was graffiti._ Painted onto them is a familiar skyline, the one he’s patrolled for years. A red and blue superhero swings across it, web in hand, arm poised to shoot another. His face is masked, and above Spider-Man are black letters: _Come home, Spidey. We miss you._

His eyes rake the painting, hand tracing across the tiny brushstrokes. As Peter takes it in, he notices the thousands of signatures scrawled into the skyline, hidden amongst the dark windows and shaded towers. Every single one has a different handwriting style - some are lowercase and loopy, some are neat and printed, but they all say variants of the same thing: _we’re sorry._

 _I’m sorry you got put in this position_ , one reads. _I’m sorry I believed Mysterio, I’m sorry I watched you get beaten up and didn’t do anything._ Peter doesn’t realise he’s crying until a tear falls on his outstretched arm.

“You okay, kid?” A hand claps on his shoulder, ever so gentle. “This is pretty neat, huh?”

“I thought they all hated me?” Peter asks Happy, more of a question than a statement.

“I reckon,” Happy grins, pulling a key out of his belt loop and sticking it into the lock, “When you read all those cards you’ll see otherwise.” He puts his shoulder to the door and slams, hard. The envelopes jammed under fly out onto his kitchen floor in a hurry. “You wanna go pack some stuff up? I’ll get all your fan mail.”

He darts back out the door, not even waiting for Peter to reply. The apartment’s so empty. The thinnest layer of dust coats the stovetop, benches and floor. It’s exactly how he left it all that time ago – flannel still strewn over the back of the couch, half-eaten, now mouldy banana in the fruit bowl. He walks in a dream-like state towards his room.

Nothing’s changed – his suitcase is still half-unpacked on his floor, chemistry notes littering his bed. The very many photo frames of Ben, May and him, his parents and Tony are still hung lopsided on the wall, spare webshooters still on his desk. With a jolt Peter realises he’s actually doing this, actually moving away from his childhood home, the apartment he was raised in, the house teeming with memories Ben and May shared with him, and suddenly he wants to stay. Wants to live here forever, watch re-runs of old, sappy sitcoms and hug Ben’s old shirts, but the envelopes lying on the kitchen floor scream _don’t_. _The world knows where you live, now,_ he thinks. _Do the best thing for May._

And so, he tips out his suitcase, reaches for the closest drawer, and starts packing.

_

“There’s a spare room next to Peter’s,” Pepper tells them when they get back, fresh linen in her arms. “Or further down the hallway, if you’d like.”

May smiles and clutches her bag. “Does Harold have a room?”

“Ew, May!” Peter cries, pretending to gag. “Gross!”

The adults laugh and Happy blushes deeply. Morgan, who’s sitting on the couch, looks up and stares at her mother quizzically, face scrunched together. “What’s gross?”

“Nothing, sweetie,” Pepper tucks her hair behind her ears and deposits the linen into Peter’s arms, marching over to her daughter, “Do you wanna go get your new room ready to show Peter?”

“Yeah!” The five-year-old cries excitedly, flying off down the hall. “We’re gonna draw pictures and read and play…!”

Peter laughs. “Thankyou for this, Ms – Mrs. Stark.”

“What have I told you, sweetheart? It’s Pepper. You don’t need to thank me,” She says gently. Happy and May take the opportunity to walk toward the elevator, clearly heading for Mr. Hogan’s room. Peter struggles to keep a straight face.

“Okay,” He manages.

As May and Happy’s elevator doors close, the other opens with a pleasant _ding._ Out steps an exhausted-looking James Barnes, his hair shorter than the last time Peter saw him.

“Hey, Bucky,” Pepper nods, “We weren’t expecting you.”

“Sorry,” The super-soldier replies, “I used your training room. Needed to punch something – I just saw Steve.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” Ms. Potts replies, sobering. “How is he?”

The corners of Bucky’s mouth turn down and up furiously, as if he’s trying his hardest not to cry. “I – he’s, uh – oh, hey, punk.”

Bucky dips his head toward Peter. “Hey, sir – Mr. Barnes. Thank you for help – uh, saving me.”

James laughs. “It’s okay, kid. We gotta look after one another now.” His expression darkens and his eyes cloud. “How are you, anyway?”

“Fine,” He says, “All healed up now.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I mean, how are you holding up in here?” He taps his forehead, voice soft.

It’s strange. Peter hasn’t thought about the horrible illusions and mind-trips since the plane ride. “Fine,” He tells the older man honestly. “I’m…I’m okay.”

“That’s good to hear,” Pepper smiles. Bucky grins along.

Down the hallway, a pink and purple blob shrieks, arms waving wildly. “Petey! Come see my room! It’s so big!”

“I’ll leave you too it,” James waves a goodbye, making towards the elevators again. Morgan crashes into Pepper and Peter, sending her mother wobbling.

“Careful,” Mrs. Stark warns, ruffling her hair. “Slow down, Morguna.”

“Yeah, yeah,” The five-year-old sasses, picture-perfect image of her father, “Peter, you’re so slow – come _on_!” She latches onto him with strength that surprises the teenager.

“Coming, coming,” He chuckles, swinging his little sister onto his back. “Lead the way, Morgan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry not much is happening at the moment, but hopefully there'll be a couple of nice, happy chapters soon. this will probably be the last chapter for a little while. sorry guys. until then, happy reading! please leave kudos and comments, I really enjoy reading them all! thankyou!


	14. Chapter 14

“How was the visit?” Pepper asks once they’re back, eyeing the mountains of envelopes in Peter’s arms. “Any interruptions?”

“Just - lots of people left, uh - “ Peter shifts from foot to foot. Happy finishes dragging the suitcases, bags and boxes from the elevator into the living space and snorts loudly. 

“He’s got a whole shrine. Everyone wants him back,” Harold rolls his eyes. 

“I’d like to go back - back to patrol,” The spiderling adds timidly. May glares at him from behind a box and he shuts up with a laugh from Pepper. 

“Honey, you just recovered from a drone shot to the chest, amongst...other things.” May puts the box down next to the elevator. “Take a break, maybe? God knows you need it.” 

“I have been!” He grabs two boxes and shifts them so he’s holding them with one arm and picks up another two with his other hand. “For like - for ages. I gotta go back, back to patrol, back to school.” 

“Sweetheart,” Pepper says gently, “There are things we have to sort out first. That - the shrine,” She cracks a smile, “was a start, but some people, including possibly the kids at your school only see one side of the story.”

“Won’t patrolling help that? I’ll be back saving lives,” He tries. 

“Saving cats,” Happy mumbles, quiet enough for nobody to hear but himself and Peter, who in turn flares playfully at him across the room. 

Nobody talks for a second. May fumbles with the cardboard in her hands, Mrs. Stark stares at the expensive couch. Peter breathes deeply, thinking.  _I have to go back. Even if they hate me, there are still people dying, people getting hurt because I’m not there to stop it -_

“Peter,” May says decisively, jerking him out of his thoughts, “Let’s just focus on settling in, okay, honey?” 

She smiles at him but he knows there’s no arguing or haggling with this. “Okay,” Peter answers, staring at his shoes so he doesn’t have to look at her face when he lies. 

_

“You want me to hack into FRIDAY?” 

Ned’s crackly voice is aghast on the other end of the phone call. Peter can practically see his shocked face, almost hear his heart rate picking up. “Please?”

“It’s FRIDAY,” His best friend pleads weakly, “Possibly the most secure network in the  _world_. ” 

“She’s a snitch - sorry FRIDAY, if you’re listening, but it’s true -I need to go patrolling and I know Pepper’s got a protocol against me leaving - “

“You want me to -  _Pepper Potts’s protocol?_ Nononono - “

He sighs. “Come on, Guy In The Chair. Please?”

Ned goes quiet. “Now that’s just mean. You know I’m a sucker for that.”

Peter laughs. “So - are you in? It’ll be fun! Karen can call you like - like old times! You can find the bad guys, we’ll take them down together!”

All he gets in reply is a groan. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” 

-

As soon as he opens one of his many bedroom windows, a wave of strong nostalgia almost knocks him off his web. Memories of sneaking out of the Tower and compound on weekends with Mr Stark flash through his mind. 

_“Where’ve you been, kiddo?” Tony asks at some ungodly hour after a slightly-stabbed Peter stumbles over the balcony. He pretends to think, humming, fingers tapping on his chin. “Hard guess.”_

_“May’s?” He tries, knowing full well he wasn’t supposed to patrol tonight; he had just recovered from a concussion and Tony had made it pretty clear he was not to engage in any strenuous activity._

_“You were at May’s at two in the morning in your suit,” He deadpans. “Sure, jan - wait, is that blood?”_

_“I may have gotten a little stabbed?”_

_“A little stabbed?” Tony cries, incredulous. “How the fu— how do you get a little stabbed?” He shakes his head, getting up out of his seat. “Just - never mind. Let’s get you patched up, bud.”_

Peter slips a hand under his mask and wipes away his tears. His other is still attached to a web, which he lets go of. 

“Good evening, Peter. How have you been?” Karen greets him. 

“Hey, Karen, I’ve been - I’ve been okay.” He replies, shooting web after web into the sunset. “It’s good to be back.”

“That’s good. I’ve missed you.” the AI doesn’t give him a chance to respond before continuing. “Ned Leeds is connected.”

Peter lets go of the thin, white rope-like substance and lands on a roof, dodging an air conditioning vent and rolling to his feet gracefully. “Hey, man!”

“Don’t ‘hey, man’ me,” Ned grumbles, but his heart isn’t in the insult. “I just hacked frickin’ FRIDAY for you. I expect more than a ‘hey, man’.”

Peter laughs. “What about this? Oh, Ned, you’re my hero!” 

Ned cackles at his high-pitched impersonation of a fan . “I’m better than a hero, c’mon.”

“Sorry, God, my King, uh, my lord and saviour Jesus Christ.” His sentence is punctuated by hearty giggles from both ends. 

“Peter, there’s a mugging two blocks from here,” Karen interrupts. Focusing, Peter can hear distant yells and the sound of breaking glass. 

“Oi, Karen, that’s my job,” His guy-in-the-chair retorts. The sound of keys clacking fills the receiver. “Mugging’s on insert street name here, right next to insert building name here.” 

“Why, thank you, sir Ned - Nedward.” They both dissolve into laughter again. 

Peter ignores the red path Karen’s set out for him and follows Ned’s directions. They lead him right to the sidewalk next to a brightly-lit convenience store, where two people in homemade balaclavas are bent over the cash register. In the corner behind a rack of potato chips is a quivering woman in a shirt with the name of the shop brandished across the back. He points to the door behind her and mouths ‘run’ before realising his mask is on and she can’t see him. Ned snorts and he blushes red. 

The robbers haven’t bothered to obscure the security cameras, which he knows Ned’s just hacked into. 

“Idiots,” Ned whispers. Peter smiles. “Hey, guys! Long time no see!” 

Both robbers look up so fast Peter hears a crack and winces. “Ooh, that’s gotta hurt.” 

“It’s Spider-Man,” One of them says to the other. “Queens was better without you! Piss off, kid!”

“I disagree. Queens will be better with you in jail!” He shoots two webs at the chests of the robbers and sticks them together, releasing another to tie them up so their limbs are stuck to their sides. 

“Go Spidey!” Ned whisper-cheers in his ear. 

Peter double taps on his right webshooter, aiming for the smaller robber’s mask. “Bye, Mr or Mrs Criminal - !”

He stops abruptly. The robber’s mask is halfway off, but he lets his web drop and stumbles out the shattered glass door.  _I didn’t - I hated it when someone took my mask off. Why am I doing the same to them?_

“ - Peter? Are you okay?” 

“Fine,” He chokes out, squeezing his eyes shut so tightly his head throbs. “Call the - the cops, Ned.”

“Alrighty.”

When he opens his eyes, he spots the still quivering woman peering into the shop window. She meets his gaze and breathes out a sigh of relief. 

“Thankyou so much, Spider-Man,” She whispers, voice shaking, “You saved my life. I can’t thank you enough for - for everything you do for this city. It’s so good to have you back.”

Peter almost bursts into tears then and there. “Thank you,” He manages. “That means a lot, ma’am.” 

The woman musters a smile, glancing back inside at the tied-up robbers, and then up the street where red and blue police sirens are flashing. Even though he knows deep down it’s not him the police are after, his heart still sinks. 

“Are you okay? Do you mind if I go, ma’am?” He points to the tallest building in the distance.  _Police you’re a war criminal police police_. 

“Sure, Spidey. Thankyou!” She calls as he swings off into the distance. All bad thoughts disapate at her cheerful tone. “Have a good night!” 

“Dude, that was awesome. I forgot how much I missed doing this,” Ned says. Peter can practically hear his smile. 

The next few events go smoothly. He saves a teenage couple from a mugging, an old man’s tabby cat from a tree, and a young mother from a stabbing. He’s about to head back to the tower - the sun’s coming up - when Ned hacks into a nearby security camera. 

“Bro,” Ned yawns, computer still whirring away, “Someone’s tryna steal a fancy car two doors down. It’s red. Oooh, do you think I could impress Betty with it?” 

“I thought you two had broken up,” Peter rubs the tiredness out of his eyes and raves down the street, not bothering to swing there. 

“We did - well, yeah - we’re broken up,” Ned stutters his way through confirmation. 

“Why do you want to impress her then?” The spiderling asks, voice whisper-quiet as he approaches the car dealership. The door’s locked, so he twists the doorknob violently to the side and steps in, leaving all the cash he has on his person behind in the doorway. 

“Peter, whyyy,” Ned groans, everdently watching his every move via security camera, “You’re too good, stop it.”

“You’re avoiding the question.” His voice sparks the attention of the car muggers. They’re barely illuminated by the cold, blue light from the ceiling, but Peter can still make out the clear faces of the two robbers.One of them - a woman, unmasked face frozen in shock stares up at him, hand still on the red ferrari door. Behind her, aman stands on his tiptoes, spray can in hand. He finishes obscuring the security camera’s vision and turns around slowly. 

“Fuck,” She calls to her friend once she’s recovered, “It’s Spider-Man.”

“Spider-Menace,” The other replies, smirking, “Why’d you come back? Running away got too boring for you?” The back of his neck prickles; he’s got a gun. 

Peter doesn’t take the bait, doesn’t respond to his comment. He eyes the gun cautiously, fingers on webshooters. 

“He’s quiet  now ,” The woman mutters, shaking her head. “Let’s just go, Will.”

Her partner sneers. “Nah. I kinda want this car, and a bug boy isn’t gonna stop me from gettin’ it.”

“ William ,” She protests. 

“William,” Peter echoes, voice so soft he’s not even sure he can hear it. In the back of his mind, William’s face appears - the one with the glasses, the one that kidnapped him. His heart stops. 

The blue light that passes across the carjacker’s face flakes off, morphing into billions of blue squares. His profile turns into one that haunts his current dreams: Beck’s right hand man. 

_I thought I was over this, I got over this, I’m fine,_ he tells himself, but his mouth is frozen and dry.  _Pathetic_.  He blinks hard and slips a hand under the mask to rub at his eyes. 

Will makes a break for the car, his sneakers squeaking loudly and pulling Peter back to earth. Despite his shaking hands he shoots a web at the criminal pair, leaving them both stuck just out of reach of the car. He can barely see - everything’s gone blurry in his panic. Chest heaving, he trips over the doorway, shoving the door back into place. It splinters into a billion fragments which scatter all over the floor, the money he left jammed fluttering to the ground after it.

“Peter, what was that, dude? You - you were gone for a second, bro.”

“I can’t do this,” He exhales, breath shaky. His heart is beating hard and fast in his ears. He can feel his pulse in his toes. “I can’t be Spider-Man, Ned, I’m not ready, I’m not good enough - “

“What the hell are you on, bro? You’re a hero, everyone loves you - “

“Nononono,” He cries, sobs rising in his throat, “Should’ve listened to Pepper, should’ve listened to May -  Tony \- Tony was right, I’m not fit for this.”

“Peter, what do you mean?” Ned’s tone is pleading. “Listen, all those gifts, that old lady, everyone looks up to you; you’re a hero - “

“Karen,” He says, “Disconnect call.”

_

Ned stares at his blank computer screen. Peter’s words still ring in his ears minutes after he disconnected him from the call.

He’s a FOS, and he knows being a friend of Spider-Man doesn’t just come with adrenaline rushes and autographs. Being a FOS means having constant too-high heart rate, refreshing pages and pages of Spidey Watch notices for information. It means sitting by his best friend in the whole wide world’s side as he recovers from mental and physical injuries. It means giving up his freedom, giving up going to school and dodging the media. He was the first person Peter told, and since then he’s seen him through taking buildings to the head, stabbings and gunshot wounds, grief and terror. He knows the ups and downs. 

But he also knows no matter what Peter says, both Spider-Man and Peter Parker are heroes. It hurts Ned to see the Mysterio man’s influence on the teenager, what him and the William Riva guy have done to make Peter think he’s a failure. 

Ned brushes away tears and leans back in his desk chair, twirling around aimlessly.  _ What can I do?  he thinks.  How do I help -  _

The chair stops in front his PC. A new alert, postered barley seconds ago rips him out of his thoughts. 

“Spider-Man’s back,” He reads aloud, clicking on the post. “Saved my boyfriend and I...mugger...I’m so glad to have you back, Spidey...welcome him home.” The post takes him to a forum, where already thousands of comments are pouring in. 

_spideystan420: OMG NO WAY SKSKSKSKS THIS IS THE BEST BIRTHDAY EVER. I MISSED HIM SO MUCH I HOPE HES DOING OKKK_

_bitchiaintchochang: shdhdhs my skin is CLEAR my crops are WATERED my depression GONE._

_ noobmaster69: i heard all the shit that’s happened to him i’m so glad he’s back. this kid’s amazing ffs thanks spiderman we all love you .  _

Almost every reply is positive, but a steady trickle of negative ones have begun to take over the page. 

_notsally: that’s nice and all but peter parker’s a vigilante. he’s no beater than a criminal, even if he didn’t do the shit mysterio said he did_

_sarajames84: Mmm. I agree with @notsally. I don’t trust him (even if he’s been proven innocent, or whatever). I wouldn’t want him near my kids._

“Nobody asked you, Sara,” Ned whispers, clicking off the webpage defiantly. Still, the last two comments seemed to be burnt into his mind. 

“Don’t trust him...what’s someone got to do around here to make someone trust a person?” Ned thinks out aloud. “Peter saves people’s lives, and yet - “

He stopped suddenly, an idea sparking in his head. 

-

“Unauthorised system detected.”

“Hey, Karen,” Ned greets Peter’s AI, stifling a yawn and clicking away at his computer, weaving through lines of code. 

“Hello, Ned. Calling Peter would have been easier than hacking into my databases. Is there something wrong with your phone?” Karen says. 

“Nothing’s wrong with it,” He replies, “I can call people fine - Peter and I were on a call like, a couple of hours ago!” He switches on his phone to check the time and remembers why he hacked into a million-dollar super-suit in the first place. “Karen, can you help me out? It’s - I’m doing something for Peter.”

“That depends what it concerns, Mr. Leeds,” She says, but her tone is much lighter now that he’s mentioned Spider-Man. 

“I need video footage of Spider-Man rescuing people. If - if you don’t help, I’m just gonna get the clips the old fashioned way.” He puffs out his chest determinedly. 

Through his laptop, he swears he hears the AI chuckle. 

“Alright,” She agrees, after a moment of hesitation. “One-hundred and thirty-one thousand, two-hundred and forty-two results.”

“Shi - sugar,” He swears, resting his head in the palms of his hands. “Can we...filter them, or something? Most meaningful?”

“Filtering. I’ve blurred the faces of the people; doubt Mrs. Stark would want another lawsuit on her hands.” 

Ned has to restrain himself from laughing as his parents are still asleep down the hall. “That’s - who taught you to be a smartass?”

“I couldn’t find ‘smartass’ in my codes, Ned.” Karen’s voice almost seems to carry a smile. “Video footage has been uploaded to your laptop.”

He stuffs a hand in his mouth to stop himself from giggling. “Wow, thanks, Karen. That was fast.”

“You’re welcome,” She says. “Just one thing, though.”

“Mhm?” He scrolls past the mountains of clips, saving them all to his video editing software and preparing himself for a long day ahead. 

“Never try to hack me again.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys i’m on holiday like i said but plane rides are long and i have zero patience so here we are. happy reading get ready for the good happy shit parker deserves soon! please comment and leave kudos it gives me Life


	15. Chapter 15

Peter trudges home. His heart is heavy after hanging up on Ned, and he wants nothing more to call him back and apologise, but Karen’s not talking to him and he can’t call and swing at the same time. 

“Karen?” He tries for the third time, doing an unnecessary flip off of the building he’s standing on and onto another. It’s as if his AI knows he messed up and is giving him the silent treatment as punishment. 

“Since when were you programmed to be a teenager?” He mumbles. 

“Sorry, Peter, my systems were preoccupied.” 

Spider-Man almost topples out of thin air. “Karen! You - you scared me! Oh, my god, please don’t do that!” 

“Sorry, Peter,” Karen replies. 

“It’s alright,” He says. The Stark tower comes into view far off in the distance, sun rising behind it. “What happened to your systems? How long’s it been since you had a check-up? Wait, is that weird? A check-up for an AI?”

When Karen responds her tone is much lighter. It almost seems as though she’s smiling. “You can call it a check-up, Peter, I don’t mind. I was...just down for a second. It’s okay; I can’t detect any failures.” 

“Okay, then,” He says. “Could you text Ned for me?”

Karen’s silent for a second. “Ned’s phone is offline. Would you like me to force the text through?” 

“No, it’s okay,” He whispers, fingers sticking to the side of the Stark building.  _Please be alright, Ned,_ he thinks, deciding to send him a text tomorrow.  _If he doesn’t answer then, I’ll just swing over._ He clambers up the glass towards the bedroom window he left slightly ajar. “Goodnight, Karen. Thanks for helping tonight.” 

“Goodnight, Peter,” Karen matches his volume. He crawls through the gap between window and wall and tumbles gracefully into his bedroom, making a move toward the Star Wars themed bedsheets and stepping over the unpacked boxes in the corner. It’s still strange to think he lives in the humongous Stark Tower now, and not back in May and his tiny apartment in Queens. He won’t lie - he misses it, but Pepper and Morgan have moved here temporarily to accomodate him and he doesn’t want to complain. 

Peter presses the spider in the middle of his chest and feels his skin-tight suit go loose. He changes into his pyjamas and flops into the half-made bed, rolling over to face the door. Going back to patrol made him feel so much better. He falls asleep with a smile etched into his face. 

-

“Wake-y wake-y eggs and bake-y,” Morgan sings, dive bombing into Peter’s sheets. She lands on Peter’s leg, and the boy jerks up, knocking his skull on the bed head. 

“What’s - Morgan? What’s going on?” He groans, rubbing his head while Morgan giggles. 

“Mommy said to let you sleep, but It’s like, ten in the morning, and if you stay in bed any longer we won’t be able to plaaaaaaay,” She tugs on his arm. 

“Yeah, alright.” He rubs the sleep from his eyes and yawns. “Give me ten minutes, okay?” 

“Okay!” She repeats, skipping out of the room elatedly. “But I’m setting a timer! You better hurry up!”

He lets out a laugh and rolls over. On the floor lies his suit discarded from last night, phone next to it. He frowns, remembering yesterday. “Damnit,” He sighs, leaning over the bed so he can pick up the phone.  _Hopefully Ned’s phone is online this time._ However, the phone has other ideas and vibrates in his hands loudly, causing a still-sleepy Peter to fumble with it as it slips from his hands. He turns it on. 

There must be a billion notifications on his lock screen. Texts from his AcaDec team, tweets directed at his various accounts. There are email notifications, unread instagram direct messages, and most importantly, texts from both MJ and Ned. 

“What?” He whispers. He swipes to unlock his phone. The only other time it’s blown up like this was when his identity revealed, which can only really happen once, he figures. 

He reads his texts first. 

_guy in the chair, 3:45am: hey peter-man i hope this helps you. have a good night._

_guy in the chair, 3:45am: https://youtube.com/spider-man-local-hero/38HK-84892G_

_ mj ❤️ , 7:32am: hey, peter, have you seen this? anyway i heard u went patrolling last night. hope ur okay, loser. look after yourself.  🖤 _

_Betty Decathlon, 8:01am: Hi, Peter! Long time no see! We all miss you at school and at practice! Hopefully you’re coming back soon. Thanks for everything you do for the city. Everyone at Midtown sure does trust & love you to bits. _

_Ewgene Thompson, 6:27am: Yo, Parker. The city loves you and whatever else. Dick move of everyone to not leave you alone. You saved my life, I guess, so you can’t be that bad. Everyone wants you back at school._

_Ewgene Thompson, 6:30am: Actually can you like stay home longer? I like your place on the AcaDec team._

_Ewgene Thompson, 6:31am: I’m kidding. Joking. That was a joke. Sorry for bullying you, or whatever._

Peter, eyebrows furrowed, scrolls back up to Ned’s link. It takes him to a video posted in the early hours of the morning. The watch count is in the high millions, the like count the same. There’s not even a thousand dislikes. 

The video starts. Two men, one holding a boombox on his shoulderscall out to the camera. Both their faces are blurred out. 

“It’s the Spider-Guy!”

“Spider- Man !” The person behind the camera - Peter’s own voice - calls back. 

“Alright then, Spider-Man! Do a flip!” 

Past-Peter obliges, the camera turning upside down with him. As he goes to land, the scene changes, and suddenly Spider-Man’s swinging. 

“Whoa,” Says Real Peter, “Neat editing.”

There’s a girl holding onto his side, crying into his shoulder. Like the two men, her face is also blurred out. The camera, which Peter now realises is the footage from his mask turns towards the girl. 

“Hey,” He says. Her face is blurred out. She’s obviously hurt, but Ned’s made this video PG13, and somehow there’s no blood in sight. “Hey, you’re okay. What’s your name, ma’am?”

“C-Cate,” The girl sobs as they land on the ground. A hospital comes  into focus in the background. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Cate. I’m Spidey, and we’re gonna get you patched up, okay?” 

Real-life Peter stills. He remembers the little girl, remembers the guy he rescued her from.  How did Ned get this footage? 

The scene cuts to a hospital bed, where Spider-Man’s masked hand holds Cate’s tiny one. “It’s gonna be alright, Cate. Focus on my voice, okay? Your Mom’s almost here, kiddo.”

_He hacked Karen,_ Peter realises fondly as the scene changes. He’s now webbing up robbers in a bank on one of the main streets of Queens. Peter remembers this one. 

He finishes webbing up one criminal and turns to the next. His gun is drawn. He doesn’t shoot at Spidey, but aims at a middle-aged bank teller who’s been taken hostage. There’s a loud bang and Peter watches himself flip toward the hostage. The video cuts, but it’s pretty obvious he’s just caught the bullet.

The footage from this clip is incredibly hazy. Smoke fills the frame and Spider-Man coughs loudly. He’s in a fire. 

“Is there anyone left in here?” Spider-Man’s voice is hoarse. 

“Two heat signatures in the next room. One upstairs. Both are, I think, alive,” Karen’s voice is clear and sharp. 

Peter watches himself run through the smoke and flames and burst through the door, knocking it off of its hinges. “Hello?”

“In here!” The reply is quiet. Spider-Man rushes towards the voices - a mother and a son, faces blurred, huddled in the corner. He kicks out the window above them and hauls them to their feet. 

“Grab hold of me, okay? It might seem a little scary, but you’re gonna be fine. Trust me.” The mother nods and grabs hold of the vigilante. Past Peter scoops up the child with one arm, webs the woman to his waist and shoots a web into the distance before jumping out of the building. The scene cuts and Spidey’s back in the building rescuing the other person Karen spotted. It’s an elderly man, still in his bed. He’s unconsious, but Peter picks him up and positions him so the man is lying somewhat comfortably in his arms and swings out of the building just as he had done previously. 

On the ground, just arrived paramedics take the man from Peter whilst the fire-fighters that couldn’t get into the building clap him on the back. The mother and son, who are sitting in the back of an ambulance wave him over. 

“Thank you, Spidey,” They say. The little boy ditches his oxygen mask and shock blanket and wraps his tiny arms around Peter’s waist in an attempt of a hug. 

“Oh, you’re welcome,” Past Peter says, “I hope you guys are alright.”

The video ends there, screen fading black with a very fancy PowerPoint transition. Words in comic sans scroll across the page, and with his heart beating fast, Peter reads them. 

this is our hero , It says, _all lowercase in true Ned fashion._ _this is the guy who’s been saving our city and the rest of the world for years. don’t repay him by throwing fists and nasty comments. welcome him hom_ e, _guys. trust him and love him like we should have always been doing._

_ thanks for watching .  _

Peter, mouth fallen open, scrolls through the mountains of comments. He can’t find one nitpicking or scruitinising him. They’re all positive. He clicks on a recommended video underneath Ned’s. 

It’s a news clip. A middle aged woman and a young man sit behind a desk, Ned’s thumbnail plastered over the green screen in the background. He presses play. 

“In other news, local hero Spider-Man appears to have made a comeback recently,” The man says. 

“That’s right, Andy. Spider-Man was spotted last night back in Queens.” 

“Mhm,” Andy says, shuffling his papers. “You all know Spider-Man, or Peter Parker has had a rough couple of months - being declared as a war criminal, that court case, signing the Accords.” He lists them off on his fingers.

“For sure. We’re very glad he’s back - the crime rates in Queens have risen by 10% because of our web-slinger’s absence.”

“But I’m sure you all already know he’s back, courtesy of a video posted to youtube channel Nedderman01 early this morning. It shows footage of Spider-Man, who appears to be behind the camera, rescuing and saving the citizens of Queens. The video creator then asks everyone to ‘welcome him home’ and not to repay his heroic work with violence and mean comments. He wants us to trust and love him like we should have always been doing.” The woman smiles. “This YouTuber is clearly right. I’m - I’m actually disgusted at the comments on some of our videos and around the web concerning Peter Parker -“

“Yeah, he’s innocent, guys. That was proven  months  ago,” Andy interjects. His coworker shoots him a glare. “If anyone continues to be mean, I’ll throw hands.” He holds up his fists in front of the camera. 

“What we wanted to say was we, for one love Spider-Man. Keep doing what you’re doing. We trust you.” 

_ Maybe I am fit for this. Maybe I  can  _ _be Spider-Man still_ ,  he thinks wildly as the video ends, faintly remembering his panic yesterday, the thoughts that had lingered with him on every patrol and mission since Homecoming. 

“Ned, you’re a god,” He whispers, scrolling wildly on his phone and clicking on Ned’s contact. “Pick up, pick up, please pick up - “

“Hello?”

“Ned, did you make this? ‘Cause holy shit, man - one, it’s amazing, and two, there’s literally not even half a bad comment.”

Ned laughs through the phone. “I’m glad you like it. I have like, a thousand subscribers now! One video and one thousand subscribers! PewDiePie watch out!” 

Peter chuckles. “But seriously, dude, this is like the nicest thing ever. I - this - this made my day and Its still ten in the morning.” There’s a laugh from the other side of the phone. “I think you just saved my life,” Peter continues, breathy and ecstatic. He feels just.  Happy. “I think - nobody hates Spider-Man anymore.”

His best friend goes quiet for a second. “Nobody hated you in the first place, Peter. All those letters from your apartment, that lady on patrol - everyone loves you. Some people, including you -” He pauses to snort. Peter imagines him shaking his head, corners of his mouth turned up. “- just needed to be reminded.”

Peter falls silent. “Can I - could I come over?” 

Before Ned can reply, there’s a knock on Peter’s bedroom door. Morgan doesn’t even give him a second before she storms in, arms crossed angrily, face screwed up in her best attempt at a glare, which is honestly more hilarious than scary. 

“Is it okay if I bring a very angry six-year-old?” 

-

“Where are we going, Petey? Is it one of your friends? Ooh, are we going to see Ned?” Morgan screeches from her car seat. She swings her legs idly, craning her neck to stare out of the windscreen as if that particular window held all her answers. Behind the wheel, Happy’s mouth twitches. 

“You’ve contaminated her,” He says. “She’s caught the Peter Disease, and now she’s never going to shut up.” 

Peter pokes his tongue out, reflecting his sixteen whole years of maturity. “Got it in one, Morgan,” He ignores Happy.

“We’re going to Ned’s?”

“We’re going to Ned’s,” He confirms. 

“He said he has  all  the Star Wars movies! And a lightsaber! Uncle Happy, can I have a lightsaber?” Morgan asks. 

Happy pulls up in the driveway of Ned’s apartment, sighing. He parks and climbs out of the front seat and into the back, unclasping Morgan’s seatbelt and hoisting her out of the Audi. “No.”

“Awww, c’mon  Uncle Happy ,” Peter parrots, bursting into a grin as he meets Happy’s gaze over the top of the car. 

“No,” The man glares back, but his eyes are twinkling and Peter knows he’s just added Lightsaber to his mental Christmas list. “Go have fun.”

He throws Morgan’s pink and purple bag over the top of the car. Peter’s arm juts out to catch it reflexively. Happy throws another item at him, which he catches just as easily. 

It’s a pair of sunglasses inside a baseball cap. He raises his eyebrows at Happy. 

“Kept ‘em in my glovebox for Tony. Put them on.” It’s clear that even under the new title of Uncle Happy he’s not forgotten his previous bodyguard role. 

Peter obliges. The glasses are a little two big and the hat slips down over his forehead, but Happy looks pleased. From behind the frames, he watches him back out the driveway and slips his hand into Morgan’s. 

“Let’s go muck around with lightsabers.”

Ned opens the door after they run up seven flights of stairs, puffed and giggling. “Peter! Morgan!”

“Apparently you told her you have a lightsaber. She’s obsessed,” The spiderling explains. Morgan dances on the balls of her feet. 

“I do! It’s not real, but - but you can play with it nonetheless!” He adds quickly, glancing down at Morgan’s crestfallen face. She perks up immediately, racing inside. 

“Mom’s at work,” Ned says. The house is silent, minus the screaming kindergartener. 

“I’m sorry I hung up on you,” Peter says as they walk toward Ned’s room. 

“Dude, It’s fine,” Ned picks up his phone from the kitchen counter and shoves it in his back pocket. “You were hurting, or whatever. I don’t care. I just want you to be happy.”

“Dude,” Peter says affectionately.

“Dude,” Ned mirrors. He bumps his shoulder and they march down the hallway side-by-side. 

“Neeeeeed! There’s a  girl  in your room!” 

Peter and Ned race down the hallway, into the room with the door flung open. Morgan’s pointing at the corner. 

Eyebrow poised and mouth curved into a smile, MJ stares down the girl. Her arms are folded across her Black Lives Matter shirt. She uncrosses them and waves at the boys. 

“That’s MJ - Michelle,” Ned says. “Michelle, meet Morgan. Morgan, meet Michelle.”

MJ doesn’t bend down to Morgan’s height. She extends her hand. “My friends call me MJ.”

Morgan’s eyes grow to the size of saucers, her mouth forming an ‘o’. “You’re cool.” She turns to Peter. “You can keep her; I like her.”

The teenagers all dissolve into laughter. Ned breaks out the big guns - A New Hope and a collector’s edition Lightsaber that he found in a thrift shop and Morgan claims a spot at the end of Ned’s bed, watching the movie animatedly through his laptop. MJ moves over to where Peter is standing and presses a kiss to his cheek. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Peter wraps his arms around her in a hug. 

“You watched that video, right?” Peter nods. “It was probably the smartest thing Ned’s ever come up with - “

“Rude!” Ned cries, hovering between the movie and his friends. “What about the robot we made in freshman year?” 

“Yeah, yeah.” MJ rolls her eyes and continues. “As I was saying, it’s smart because Ned reminded all the trolls on Reddit that you’re actually a person, a person with feelings. And now the media’s going to feel like sh - really bad and back off. Ned and I’ve been going back to school, and soon you’ll be able to join us. Your life’s a couple of days away from normal - well, as normal as it was before.” 

She looks elated, almost excited. MJ stares ahead, past Ned, who’s completely abandoned them both in favour of Morgan and his laptop. 

Peter traces her line of view. She’s stating absent-mindedly at Ned’s blue-painted walls, at the blu-tacked photos. There’s a few of just Peter and Ned; homecoming, selfies at their local movie theatre waiting for the movie to start, but the rest are of the trio at Decathalon, movie nights, sipping sugar-laden drinks at their favourite coffee shops. 

“Ned unknowingly just helped you with that,” She points at a photo of them standing in the airport, suitcases in hand, grins plastered on their faces. “You’ll be back to normal sooner than you know it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here’s a present in commemoration of spider-man getting back into the mcu. thanks for reading guys leave kudos and comments :) next chapter should be up later this week. hope you all enjoyed!


	16. Chapter 16

As per usual, MJ is right. Everything seems to be back to normal the moment she says it - his best friend and girlfriend watching one of his favourite movies with his little sister.It’s domestic and heart-warming and so utterly  normal  Peter thinks his heart might implode then and there. 

As the credits of  A New Hope  fade and Morgan’s eyes flutter close, Peter shifts her from where she had curled up on his lap, shoes kicked off, hands buried in his sweater to his hip. He picks up her sneakers from the floor and moves his sister to one hand, attempting to do the velcro up himself.

“I’ve got it,” MJ whispers, pushing her curls out of her eyes and gently sliding Morgan’s shoes on her socked feet. She tucks a stray strand of the little girl’s hair behind her ear and smiles. “You make a good brother, Peter.”

“O-oh,” Peter says, his tone as quiet as hers. He’s never had that compliment before; six or seven months ago he didn’t even have a sibling. “Thanks, MJ.”

“You’re welcome.” She presses a quick kiss to his lips, resting her forehead on his. “You should probably get going.”

“Probably,” Peter whispers back. In his arms, Morgan shifts in her sleep.He fires off a text to Happy and stares lovingly back at his girlfriend. 

“Ew,” Ned mumbles from behind them, “You two are too happy. Gross. Disgusting.” He’s smiling, though, so Peter can tell he doesn’t mean it. “What were you talking about?”

“Peter going back to school, all thanks to you,” MJ says. “You and your video.”

“It helped - what?” Ned splutters. “I just made it because there were a couple of idiots on a Spider-Man forum were going on about trust and I wanted to prove a point.”

MJ mutters something along the lines of  idiots on Reddit and  I was goddamn right, wasn’t I?  She doesn’t mumble very quietly, however, and he and Ned both laugh as quietly as they can manage.

“Have I ever told you guys I love you?” Peter grins as they all fall silent. “You’re both amazing. I love you.” 

He has to put Morgan down quickly in fear of her getting squashed as both MJ and Ned dive toward him for a bone-crushing hug. 

-

“She wasn’t a hassle?” Pepper whispers as Peter deposits a still-sleeping, completely worn out Morgan in her arms. Her hair is tied up in a ponytail; she and May had been cooking dinner. Peter guesses it was mainly Pepper as May burnt anything and everything food related she touched. 

“Nah,” Peter whispers back, settling into a barstool and helping himself to a warm chocolate-chip muffin, still in the greased pan. “She was good, although I think she might have developed a slight Star Wars obsession.”

Pepper shakes her head fondly. “You’ve contaminated my child.” She runs a hand through Morgan’s hair and presses a kiss to her forehead. 

“It wasn’t me!” Peter defends himself through a mouthful of muffin. “Ned’s the one that let her watch A New Hope and let her play with a lightsaber.” Pepper raises an eyebrow and looks as though she wants to say more, but Morgan moves and she strides out of the room quickly, careful not to wake her daughter. 

“Oh, no,” Happy groans. Peter swivels around and wrinkles his nose maturely: May’s head is buried in the crook of his neck. “I’m not putting up with another Peter.”

“Ew, Happy,” Peter completely ignores him, “We have thin walls here.”

May detaches herself from her boyfriend and looks up, confused. Happy snorts. “You’re a work of art, Parker.”

“Me or May?” He teases, jumping over the counter to avoid the oncoming attack.

“You have too much energy,” May shakes her head, arms folded. “I’ve got a right mind to send you back to school, young man.”

She’s joking, but all Peter can hear is  _you’ll be back to normal sooner than you know it_ . He stops darting away from Happy’s hands and stares up at May, copping a particularly aggressive hair noogie as Happy catches up to him.

“Do you want to go back to school?” May says slowly. Happy detangles his hand from Peter’s curls and glances down at him.

“Is that even safe, kid?” He asks. 

Peter shrugs. “I mean, I think - I hope everything’s cleared up. Ned made a video and - and everyone doesn’t hate Spider-Man anymore.”

“Nobody hated you in the first place, baby,” May says, voice gentle. At the exact same time Happy says, “What video?”

Pepper chooses that exact moment to walk back in. “What’s going on?”

“Peter’s got a video,” Happy summarises helpfully. 

“Uh, here,” Peter whips his phone out, thinking showing them will be better than explaining, but FRIDAY’s a step ahead and broadcasts it on the television. She plays the latest news reports on it, too, including the one Peter watched earlier. As the last clip ends, May turns to face him. 

“This is really good, sweetie,” She says. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Do you think it would be...okay then? Going back to school?” He twists his hands together.

May glances at Pepper, then Happy. “You know what, honey? Go right ahead.”

-

Peter wakes up the next morning, not with his person alarm clock, Morgan, but with the high-pitched sounds of Hell. 

“Didn’t miss this,” He grumbles, slapping a hand on the screaming digital clock on his beside table. He has to roll from one side of his too-big bed to the other to turn it off and ends up tangled in his sheets, one arm straightjacketed to his side. May chooses this exact moment to walk in. 

“Ready for - oh,” She says. 

Peter looks over at her, raising his head off of the mattress. “Good morning, May.”

“Morning, squirt - you know what this looks like?” May giggles. 

“May,  no, ” He cries, catching her drift, batting at her outstretched hand uselessly, attempting to knock her phone out of her hands as she snaps a picture and laughs harder.

“A spider - a spider trapped in a web!” She chortles, doubling over. There are actual tears in her eyes. Peter falls back into the sheets .

“Up you get,” May recovers from her laughing fit, prying the sheets away. “Come on, you’ve got a big day today.”

“Not getting up now,” He grumbles. “Not now that you’ve  insulted  me.”

“Insulted you, have I?” She screeches. May picks up a pillow and holds it threateningly, moving into a mock-battle stance. “Choose your next words wisely.”

“Oh, I will!” He wriggles out of the sheets and reaches for a pillow, but May has the advantage - she wasn’t being eaten by her own bed, and so Peter can do nothing but cower and attempt to avoid the oncoming attack of pillows. 

-

Peter makes it as far as one block from the Stark tower before dissolving into panic. 

He’s in the back of Happy’s car - May in the front, twisted around to hold Peter’s hand, Morgan in the middle in a booster seat, Pepper next to her - when the seatbelt becomes too tight and his _Never trust atoms - they make up everything_! shirt starts to choke his ribs.

“What - why am I doing this?” He voices out aloud, burying his face in his hands. 

“You know you want to, Peter,” May taps his hand. 

“You’ve been talking about missing school for the last month,” Happy says from behind the wheel. “You’re the one that persuaded May.”

“Everything’s going to be okay. We sorted everything out,” Pepper says.

“You’ll be fine, Petey!” Chimes in Morgan, who doesn’t understand what’s going on but has taken one look at his brand new backpack and decided he’s starting school just like she did last summer. “When I started Kindergarten, I was a little scared, too. But I made like, heaps of friends on my first day - and - and you will too. They can look after you when we’re not there,” She ends seriously, head bobbling. 

May makes an ‘aww’ sound in the back of her throat. “You’re cute, Morgan.”

“I’m not  cute, ” The kindergartener crosses her arms over her pink seatbelt, “I’m a little shit.”

“Oh, my god, Morgan!” Pepper tries to chastise, but she’s laughing too hard. “Who taught you that word?”

“Daddy,” Morgan says matter-o-factly.

Pepper shakes her head, still laughing. “Of course he did.”

Peter stares at his lap, resisting a laugh. Everyone’s right, but a youtube video or court case can’t shut down media attention or take the spotlight off of him. He’s glad his family are in the Stark tower, but MJ and Ned are unprotected.  _ I can’t let anything happen to them because of me again.   
_

“Here you go, Peter,” Morgan interrupts the silence. She’s holding a piece of lined paper, folded in half with her first and last name written on the top. “This is to make sure you have a good day.”

He unfolds it. It’s a drawing in a mixture of crayon, pencil and paint. She’s drawn Pepper holding her hand in pencil, herself in paint and Peter in a mixture of the two. He’s holding Morgan’s other hand. His other is occupied with May’s, who’s depicted in bright blue crayon. She’s holding Happy’s hand. They’re all standing on lime green grass, a brown building - most likely the Lake House - to the left. Above them all is a bright yellow sun with a face. It’s unmistakably Tony. 

“Do you like it?” Morgan rests her head on his shoulder as the car swerves around a corner. “That’s you and me and Mommy and Auntie May and Uncle Happy and Daddy. He’s a sun ‘cause he’s looking down on you when you’re at school.” 

Nobody speaks. In the front seat May and Happy exchange a teary look with Pepper. He can hear May whisper ‘ Auntie May ’ happily under her breath. With equally watery eyes, Peter tucks the artwork into his pocket safely with the upmost gentleness. 

“Whoa, Morgan,” He smiles at her, “This is beautiful. I’m gonna frame it when I get back - thank you.”

The girl brightens. “Yay!” She presses a kiss to his cheek and pushes him towards the door, her expression morphing from elated to bossy in zero-point-two seconds. She looks so much like Pepper it’s scary. “We’re here. Go!”

He laughs along with everyone else. “Have a good day,” He says, giving Morgan and Pepper an awkward joined hug and unbuckling his seatbelt to give May a kiss and Happy a hug.

“You too,” They all chorus. Peter takes one last deep breath, swings his backpack onto his back and steps out of the car. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys hope you enjoyed this one! thank you all for reading and commenting! i’m also doing whumptober, so if you’re interested in that please go check my fics out. leave any recommendations or future story ideas that you want me to write in the comments!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not exactly proud of this one but here you go!

Peter grips the straps of his bag so tightly he’s surprised they haven’t ripped under his strength yet. There’s hardly anyone here; there’s still half an hour before school starts and everyone usually turns up in the last ten minutes (himself usually included). Still, his heart is beating roughly at the speed of a race car, eyes darting across every glass pane in the building in search of a breathing soul.

In Peter’s pocket his fingers brush the drawing Morgan had given him seconds ago. He calms, eyes fluttering closed for a split second, breathing deeply out. _He’s a sun ‘cause he’s looking down on you when you’re at school._ When he opens them, a figure is making its way across the school grounds.

Immediately, Peter steps backwards, hand flying to his backpack where he knows his web shooters are securely hidden. “Stupid Peter Tingle,” He mumbles, fumbling with the zipper, “why didn’t you warn me?”

“Mr. Parker!” The figure calls. It’s not a stranger or a criminal but his school principal, Mr. Morita. “It’s good to see you back!”

“Uh,” Peter stares, quickly zipping his bag back up. “It’s - It’s good to see you too, sir.”

Principal Morita hums lowly. “Yes, yes, well. The feeling is mutual, Mr. Parker.” He pauses, Adam’s apple bobbing, mouth opening and closing as he thinks of words to say. “Follow me to my office?”

Peter’s day is really looking up. He nods, heart sinking, taking a step towards his school leader but a dark shape flits in front of him, darting in between him and the principal. For the second time in ten minutes his hand flies toward his backpack to where the webshooters reside, but there’s no need. From behind a giant red folder, MJ grins at him.

“Morning, Parker, Principal Morita,” She smirks. “Sir, I was hoping to see you before class? I was wondering if you’d approve an idea for me – there’s a mural the art class and I want to paint to raise awareness for violence against women in New York?” She sends a wink towards Peter concealed underneath her curls and walks off toward the brick building of the school office, waving furiously at their principal to entice him to follow her. Morita shoots one last look at him before following after her, face considerably paler after peering into the folder labelled _Grand Ideas_.

Peter could kiss her.

-

“Good morning, class,” Ms. Warren drones, not looking up from her computer as they all file in. Peter keeps his head down, blood pounding and takes his usual seat next to Ned. “We’ll start the day with a pop quiz about the recent topics we’ve been learning about.” Peter sneaks a look at his best friend. Ned’s eyes are rolling and he’s doing a sock-puppet impersonation of their teacher.

“Alright, then,” She says. “Brant, Betty?”

Peter takes out his textbook and notepad, twisting the lid off a pen. The sense of normalcy is thick in the musty old classroom and even though Ms. Warren’s voice is boring enough to lull even the most attentive students to sleep, he finds himself grinning.

“Leeds, Ned?” Ned snaps up from his doze, mumbling out a ‘here’ and staring back at his paper. Peter stifles a laugh.

“Parker, Peter?”

“Here,” He says. Ms. Warren’s head snaps up, glasses slipping down her nose; a girl he doesn’t recognise from his pre-blip class whirls around, chewed pencil falling out of her mouth; Betty turns around with a look of delight on her face, hands poised to clap together in joy; Flash looks up from his phone under his desk to stare at him. Everybody is silent. Peter, pulse pounding in his eardrums, faces the front, ignoring the twenty odd pairs of eyes drilling into the back of his head.

Ms. Warren coughs, blinking hard. “Oh. Well. This is a - welcome back, Peter.”

“Thanks, miss,” He whispers.

The rest of his classes don’t go as smoothly - Mr. Harrington doesn’t look him in the eye once and stutters over his name when he calls the roll. Near the end of the lesson he recovers from his shock and shuffles over to Peter, marker in his hand and a sheepish expression on his face. He can guess where this is going, and by the two pairs of eyes staring his way he guesses Ned and MJ do too.

“Do you mind signing this?” His teacher says. Whispers spread along the back row.

“Sure,” Peter manages a half-hearted smile, taking the outstretched whiteboard marker and signing an overturned piece of scrap paper. He focuses on writing his name as neat as possible as to focus his concentration on something other than the hushed comments he can hear even from his seat three rows away.

“Thank you so much,” Mr. Harrington practically sighs, holding the slip of paper to his chest as if it were gold. “It’s – er - good to see you back, Mr. Parker.”

“Thanks, sir,” He says, but Mr. Harrington doesn’t look like he’s done. He opens his mouth to ask Peter a question, adjusting his glasses on his nose, but just as his lips begin to form the words the lunch bell rings. He’s been saved.

“Homework is due tomorrow, front and back of the worksheet,” Mr. Harrington scuttles to the front of the classroom, resuming his post as a teacher rather than a teenager and attempting a stern look that clashes horribly with his star-studded eyes. Peter packs up extra slow, meticulously arranging his pens and carefully stacking his papers to avoid any confrontations with his fellow students. He doesn’t manage to avoid the teacher’s gaze, however, which Peter can feel lingering on his forehead.

“Ned, fancy making me a real lightsaber?” MJ appears at his desk, art project still tucked under one arm, jaw clenched. She blows her hair away from her eyes and grimaces at the teacher, a wonderful impression of a fiery demon. A very pretty fiery demon.

“Already sketching the designs,” Ned quips, catching her train of thought. Peter stands up and his thought train completely leaves the station, topples over the edge of the tracks and skids down the side of the mountain, because Ned asks: “I’m starving. What’s for lunch?”

MJ rolls her eyes fondly and tugs at Peter’s hand. He realises they’re marshalling him – _marshalling me to my death_ , one part of his brain says. _Nah_ , he corrects, watching MJ send a death stare to the teacher that silences whatever he was about to say. _They’re protecting me. Lunch won’t be so bad with them by my side._

Ned pushes open the pair of doors leading to the cafeteria. “Ah, the sweet smell of…what meat is that?”

“I think a bit of all of them,” Peter says, smelling the air. As per usual their ‘nutritional lunch’ stinks of a crazy concoction of meat Abe Brown used to call “Mystery Meat” that nobody in their right mind will touch.

“Eat your mystery meat, children,” MJ grins, pulling Peter along, “And you’ll grow up big, strong and docile – perfect government slaves.”

“How many conspiracy videos did you watch last night?” Peter says. Bethany Cruz from their year makes eye contact with him and drops her fork. “Peter – _Spider-Man?_ ”

Ned stops laughing. “Nope,” Michelle drops Peter’s hand in favour of showing Bethany her index finger, but Bethany’s already tapped the shoulders of half her girl gang, some of which are fumbling in their bag for pens and paper. Peter grimaces.

“Peter! Over here!” Someone calls. He forces his head down. The room seems to have caught on with what’s happening and Peter is certain everyone’s attention is on him.

“Parker! Can you sign this?

 _This was a bad idea_ , he thinks, reaching for a milk carton. His hand is shaking and he fights it steady but fights too hard and the cardboard rips, splitting under his fingers, tearing cleanly in half. Milk seeps everywhere, over his head and wrist, down his science shirt, over the countertop and bain. “Shit.”

“Peter what’s it like to be a superhero? The youngest superhero ever?” James Brown, a kid Peter remembers as tiny and notorious for racing out of tests but now stands at six feet two and has a 4.0 GPA, jumps on the question board.

“Uh – “

“How’d you become Spider-Man?”

“Were you there when Tony Stark died?”

His head snaps up. The question was asked by a basketball wielding, buck-toothed freshman, standing on a chair and cupping his mouth to yell across the room. The cafeteria chatter silences and the ball bounces across the room.

One of his mates yells in his direction – his mouth is moving but Peter can’t hear him, only his nonchalant heartbeat. The heartbeats of the other boys at the table. The pulses of half has year, rhythmic patterns of half the entire fucking school filling his ears and drip-dripping into his brain, the sound drowning his limbs, suffocating his lungs, liver, stomach until he can’t see, can’t think or hear anything but _ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum._

And it’s not heartbeats he’s hearing anymore but the firing of a gun, of Beck’s Stark Industries drones exploding, of the Avengers and Wakandan army screaming in anguish as they charge against the battle cries of Thanos –

“Shut the _fuck_ up!”

Peter blinks. His head turns towards MJ, expecting her mouth ajar and eyebrows crinkled in a yell, but her mouth’s shut.

Instead, Flash – _Eugene fucking Thompson_ – is standing on the table of the basketball boy, ball in his hands, scream still dribbling from his mouth. He pegs the ball at the dead centre of the table, trays going flying, mixed meat splattering in basketball boy’s ashen face.

“Shut it,” Flash yells again. “How many brain cells do you have? Did you waste them all on the entry test? Sure freaking looks like it.” He steps down from the table, cheeks red with the attention – a kind of attention he’s never achieved. “It – It’s his first day back, thots,” He says, scanning the room. “Like – like that video said, you all have to welcome him back. None of this bullshit.” He kicks the fallen, meat-splatted basketball and looks up unabashed.

Peter’s acutely aware of Ned’s blushing face, MJ’s growing grin, Bethany Cruz sinking down in her seat. Basketball boy falls back into his plastic chair, James Brown shrinks back into line. Flash’s eyes meet his and Peter smiles.

“Thanks,” He says, voice cracking pitifully. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, dickwad,” The corners of Flash’s mouth turn up, just a little bit.

“That’s more like it,” Ned says.

“Yeah,” MJ laughs. “I was beginning to think we’d fallen into another dimension.”   


They all laugh, Flash included. He sticks his hands in his pockets, looking so un-Flash that Peter weighs out the chance of them being in another dimension and declares the possibility very, very real.

-

The day ends without any more mishaps. He only has a couple more classes. Ned’s in his history and English classes and sits beside Peter the entire time, constantly offering pens Peter doesn’t need. When he’s not there, to the spiderling’s surprise, _Betty Brant_ trips a boy who trails after him in between classes and Flash threatens to send his ‘personal driver and bodyguard’ after a group of awestruck freshmen stop him in the hallway as he tries to leave school. They’re scattering back, this time armed with cameras when Flash strikes again.

“I’ll tell Michelle and Ned you got home, okay?” Eugene says. “See you later, Parker.” He whips out his phone and holds it in one of the kid’s faces, pretending to click on a contact.

“Flash?” Peter asks, one hand on the door to escape. “Thankyou.” Flash turns around, his shitty, scratchy beard not helping to mask his surprise. A blonde girl peers over his shoulder, eyes lit-up, elated expression clashing with Flash’s bewildered one and Peter takes that as his cue to get the hell out of here.

-

“Hey, honey,” May’s standing right outside the elevator doors with her arms out when he gets home, Happy parking the in one of the many garages fifty floors below. “How was school?”

Peter dives for her, lifting her off of the ground in a one of a kind, special Peter Hug.

“You don’t have to go back,” She says, stroking his hair fondly. “We can switch schools or arrange for home-schooling if you like. It’s up to you, Peter.”

Peter closes his eyes. The day flashes by in his head, scenes of staring and pointing and whispering, not-so-discreet photo taking, the constant hubbub of murmurs whenever he walked into a class, the flashing lights of the cameras, reporters pressed up against the windows, click-clacking pictures of him with his head down and eyes squeezed shut. He falters and the vision’s overtaken by a new memory, one of MJ snapping at kids, deleting photos and launching quick-witted insults faster than the freshmen could run away; another of Ned’s constant smile, the animated rants he’d go on in between classes to change the topic to something else; of Flash standing up for him at lunch. His life’s changed completely and there’s no turning back. Peter might not have an erase button, a way to remove the last couple of months – hell, the last couple of years – but he does have a growing support system, a bigger family than he’d ever had, more loving friends than he could ever have hoped for, and that might almost be just as good.

“Nah,” He says. “I’ll stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys sorry for the late upload! hope u enjoy reading and as always please leave comments and kudos!!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is it folks

“Hey,” Peter swings through the apartment window. His chocolate curls tousled from his mask and his exposed neck is sporting light bruising, but he’s smiling so brightly anyone would be distracted from the flaws.

Including MJ, who stands up from the dining table. It’s smothered in textbooks, loose paper, neatly printed notes and an excessive amount of highlighters and pencils. “Hey,” She says, pressing a kiss to his lips.

“You too are gross,” Ned complains, entering the room. His headphones are on his head, mic bent away from his mouth. “Not in front of my XBOX, please.”

MJ simply wraps her arms around Peter’s shoulders and rolls her eyes, resting her head on his sternum. “Nobody asked you, Nedward.”

“Betrayed,” Ned sighs dramatically, pulling a tupperware container of leftovers out of the fridge and grabbing a fork from the drying rack. “By my own kin!”

Peter laughs. Ned moves his mic back to in front of his mouth, whisper-yells a “coming, Betty, wait in the lobby for me,” and scampers out of their kitchen, blushing a beetroot-red as MJ raises her eyebrows. She watches him go and turns back to her boyfriend. “How was patrol?”

“Fine. Just a couple of muggings and a hostage-y thing at the bank.”

“A hostage situation? Should’ve called your guy-in-the-chair.”

“Yeah, well, he - he was busy playing Beast Slayers, wasn’t he? And I was fine, it wasn’t a big deal.”

“Chillax, Parker,” She shakes her head, grinning, “I’m just winding you up. Think you’d be used to it by now.”

“Oh, shush,” he whispers, staring down at her. There’s a moment of silence, and then Michelle presses her lips to his.

It’s been a good couple of years since everything went down, since that very hectic year. Peter finished high school with hardly any mishaps and world-ending events (apart from a metal rhinoceros, what the absolute hell). Flash had stuck with the Nice Guy look and befriended him, Ned and MJ. He got to the end of senior year, and even before he had written a single college application half the Ivy League schools he had dreamed of - Columbia, Yale, Harvard, Stanford - emailed him. Peter had assumed it was Tony’s doing, but it wasn’t until weeks after the emails had been sent he received one from Mr. Stark, a drafted recommendation for any university of his choice with his signature neatly printed at the bottom.

 _“I knew it,”_ Peter heard him saying on his very first day at MIT, _“You’d get in on your own. No doubt about it, Underoos. The world’s your web - ha, get it? Web?”_

Ned had a full-ride scholarship the same as him to MIT, and MJ had had an offer, but turned it down for the blues and whites of Columbia. It didn’t really matter that they weren’t all going to the same school anyway - they’d skipped out on celebratory end-of-school holidays for renting a two-bedroom flat (much to May’s amusement) and moved right in.

It was one of the best things they’d ever done - all he had to do if he wanted to spend time with either of them was round the corner. MJ was a whiz at English and editing, history and study tactics, Ned was a genius at anything on or in a computer screen and Peter considered himself alright at maths and science, so between the three of them they covered most areas of study, making homework and assignments easier to complete. It was a dream come true.

And sure, not everything was perfect - Ned sometimes never knew when to shut up and his Betty’s relationship was constantly rocky, Michelle lost her shit at anyone who disturbed her during all-nighters and at her boyfriend when he came home sporting a life-threatening injury or put Spider-Man before studies or necessities, and Peter would have an occasional bad day or Beck or reporter-induced panic, and when things got too stressful he would bottle things up, much to the dislike of his friends, but they worked it out. He and MJ devised plans for Betty, he and Ned built state-of-the-art noise-cancelling headphones for Michelle and she and Ned organised for the spiderling to attend fortnightly therapy sessions. Which had worked, mostly. Everything was a-ok.

“You’re still going to the Stark’s today, aren’t you?” MJ murmurs against him.

“Yeah,” Peter says. His eyes widen comically, and he pulls himself away from her. “Oh - oh shit! That’s today - that’s in like, an hour!” He scampers off into their room, darting back to grab the mask and skidding into the door around the corner. Michelle can hear the door slam and then a quiet “Oops, sorry,” followed by the sound of drawers opening hurriedly. She laughs to herself. “Dork.”

-

“Hi, Mrs. Stark,” Peter says as Pepper opens the door. His cheeks are reddened from running from the bus stop in town to here. He pushes a bouquet of yellow tulips, albeit slightly wilted, into her hand and leaves another wilting bundle of flowers on the front steps.

“Hey, Peter,” She grins. “What’s this for?”

“I um,” He tugs at his hair, “Well, it’s - _yknow_ today, and I was thinking of you, so I brought this.” He smiles anxiously.

Mrs. Stark takes the flowers and opens the door for him, inviting him inside. “You didn’t have to. Thank you, though.”

Peter wipes his feet on the doormat, looking around the cabin Pepper and Morgan moved back into when Morgan’s school started up again. “You’re welcome, um, can I help with anything?”

“No, you’re good. Morgan’ll be home soon - she slept at a friend’s last night - and I’m pretty sure she’s got a whole itinerary planned out. You better go now, because I think she intends to spend the entire day with you.” Pepper laughs. She moves a pot off the stove and turns the gas off.

Peter chuckles. “Alright. Did you want to come, or...?”

She shakes her head. “Already been. I’ll go again later with Morgana, it’s alright. Unless you want me to come?”

“It’s fine,” He moves towards the door, waving. “See you in a bit!” He picks up the bouquet next to the door and starts to walk.

They brought back a body from the battlefield. Well, Peter didn’t - all he remembers was the adrenaline rush ebbing away to tears - but Steve or Bruce, maybe even Thor carried him off. Peter remembers the burial, though. Remembers the arc reactor, May’s hand on his shoulder, the house he never got to see Tony move into or his little girl grow up in.

Tony was buried under one of the huge trees that were littered all around his property - a huge oak round the back of the house. There’s just a headstone at the base of the tree, green grass licking the stone base. Peter sits to the side of it, careful not to sit on the earth Tony is buried under.

_ANTHONY EDWARD STARK_

_1970-2023_

There’s no epigraph underneath the writing. Instead, on the back of the head stone is the imprints of Morgan, Pepper and Rhodey’s hands, and one Pepper says is Peter’s, although he doesn’t remember where she got it from. “It’s his family,” Was all she had said. It’s sweet.

He positions the bouquet at the base of the headstone and ruffles the flowers unnecessarily so they look slightly more presentable. The carnations he brought for Tony’s birthday are still here, completely dried out and browned. He moves them to the side, revealing a painting Morgan had done at school that’s sticky-taped to the stone.

Peter smiles. “Hey, Mr. Stark. Long time no see, huh?” He stares down at the headstone. “I’m doing good. May’s good, so’s Happy. Ned’s - Ted’s - good too, apart from the other week when he lost a game against Betty for the first time in months and cried. MJ’s good - great. She’s top in like, all of her classes, and she’s organising protests all the time.”

“School’s okay, too - I’m first in chemistry and robotics, I think, which is good, I guess.” He shifts on the grass, ripping a blade out and twirling it between his thumb and forefinger. “Morgan and Pepper are fine, we just - we all miss you.” His voice cracks embarrassingly at the end and he clears his throat, staring at the tree.

“I - I never brought it up,” He says slowly, quieter than before. “But all those years ago, back - back in South Carolina? When Beck’s henchmen kidnapped me and I got shot a little bit and probably lost a small amount of blood?”

He pauses. In the back of his mind, he can hear Tony snort and practically see him shaking his head.

“Well,” Peter continues, toeing the dirt, “Okay, so maybe I lost a more than a little bit of blood, ‘cause I saw you.”

There’s a beat of silence. He keeps talking. “I mean, it can’t have been you, could it? I was obviously - probably just hallucinating. But,” He adds, even quieter, “You saved me. I didn’t know that protocol _or_ that code - I still don’t. So it had to be yo-- I mean, who else could have it been?”

The oak tree rustles its leaves. Peter shivers. “Doesn’t matter. I like to think - I think you, somehow, saved my life again, sir. So wherever you are, I just - I just want to say thanks. For everything. For bringing me back, for believing in me in the first place, for just - just being there and being you.” Peter stands up shakily, dusting off stray pieces of grass and smiles at the grave.

He leans forward and rests his fingertips gingerly on the stone. With his other hand, he pulls out EDITH, the glasses that’ve remained in Ben’s old suitcase, inside a shoebox. They’ve been gathering dust for years now; Peter’s been too scared or too worried to dig them out, much to Fury’s disgust. He places them on the headstone tentatively. “I think these looked better on you than they did me.”

He moves to turn away, brushing dirt off of his flannel. A gust of wind ripples through the tree branches sending browning leaves flying and sticks whirring. Peter hears a crunch and turns around. The EDITH glasses are lying upturned in the autumn leaves a good few feet away from Tony’s resting place. Peter’s jaw slacks open and he stares open-mouthed at the headstone.

“Stubborn bastard,” He whispers, picking them up. “These have caused me more trouble than they’re worth, you know that?”

A singular leaf trails from the tree. Peter watches it float and land at his feet and he can’t help himself - he laughs. “All - alright, Tony.” He shoves them back in their case and into his pocket, shaking his head fondly. “Happy father’s day, Mr. Stark. I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow so this is finally done. thank you guys so much for reading this absolute monstrosity. I hope you enjoyed it and uhhhh leave some recommendations for stories for me to write because I will have absolutely no idea what to do with my life now. bye and thank you so much!

**Author's Note:**

> beck can suck a fat juice pop


End file.
